A finanicial magnate was on his death bed. He was under an Oxygen tent.

A finanicial magnate was on his death bed. He was under an Oxygen tent.
At his side stood his loyal subordinate, tears streaming down his face.

"Do not grieve," whispered the expiring tycoon, with considerable effort.
"I want you to know that I appreciate your faithful services to me
over the years. I am leaving you my money, my plane, my estates,
my yacht... everything I have."

"Thank you sir" cried the subordinate.
"You have always been so good to me all these years. If only there
were something I could do for you in these last moments."

There is ... There is." gasped the half-dead man.

"Then tell me what it is," implored the faithful servant, "tell me!"

"Stop pressing your foot so hard on the oxygen li....!" the dying man
managed to utter.


B. Chandramouli