"I don't know whether there's a law that stops my doing this, Jim; but if there is, you've gotto get round it. You're a lawyer and you know the game. You're my pal and the best pal I'vehad, Jim, and you'll do it for me."The dying man looked up into the old eyes that were watching him with such compassionand read their acquiescence.No greater difference could be imagined than existed between the man on the bed and theslim neat figure who sat by his side. John Millinborn, broad-shouldered, big-featured, averitable giant in frame and even in his last days suggesting the enormous strength whichhad been his in his prime, had been an outdoor man, a man of large voice and large capablehands; James Kitson had been a student from his youth up and had spent his manhood inmusty offices, stuffy courts, surrounded by crackling briefs and calf-bound law-books.Yet, between these two men, the millionaire ship-builder and the successful solicitor, utterly different in their tastes and their modes of life, was a friendship deep and true.Strange that death should take the strong and leave the weak; so thought James Kitson ashe watched his friend."I'll do what can be done, John. You leave a great responsibility upon the girl-a million anda half of money."The sick man nodded
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