At seven o'clock they had dinner served in their room, and Diana recounted her experience with the invalid before they retired for the night. Mrs. Lowell again talked to her calmly and comfortingly and the girl's mortified pride and disappointed heart finally quieted and she slept.
The next morning the two friends discussed plans over the breakfast which was served in their room. When later the waiter arrived to carry away the tray, he was so full of news that he was obliged to speak.
"Big excitement in the house," he said. "Gentleman dead in his bed. Big man, too. Used to be president of big railroad.Wouldn't wonder if the papers had extrys out in a few minutes."
Diana caught Mrs. Lowell's hand and the latter spoke to the man: "What name?"
"Why it's Herbert Loring. I guess that'll make some stir."
It certainly made some stir in Diana's heart. It was throbbing. When the waiter had left the room, she lifted horrified eyes to her friend.
"Do you think I killed him?" she murmured.
"No, no, dear child."
"I noticed he was paralyzed on one side," said the girl, "but the valet will tell them that I excited him so that he dismissed me. Shall I pay our bill and we go away at once?"
"Just as you like, dear."
"I couldn't do that," said Diana suddenly. "I cannot be a coward."
"Then let us stay right here," said Mrs. Lowell quietly. "You may be questioned, and it will be better to be found easily. I suppose there will have to be an inquest or some such formality."
"Oh, it is dreadful!" exclaimed the girl. "If my mother knew this, she would never allow me to escape from under her wingagain. She has a horror of anything even unconventional."
"Just be calm and strong in the right, Diana, and if any one comes to question you, try not to lose your self-control. I know you have a great deal. I shall stay beside you."
"Yes, I beg of you not to leave me. Poor Mr. Loring. Poor Cousin Herbert. How much sorrow he must have had. So proud a man to become helpless."
Only five minutes later two cards were presented at the door. One was that of a doctor, the other of a lawyer. Mrs. Lowell sent word that the men were to be admitted.
Diana had on the peach-colored negligee and, when the two callers were ushered into the living-room of her suite, they found a pale, large-eyed girl standing with their cards in her hand.
One of the cards which Diana held read Ernst Veldt, M.D., the other was that of Luther Wrenn, Attorney at Law.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said Diana. "I know the urgency of your errand and, therefore, I would not detain you while I dressed. This is my friend, Mrs. Lowell. We were just finishing breakfast when the shocking news was brought to us. Mrs. Lowell, Dr. Veldt and Mr. Wrenn."
The portentous expression in the face of the two visitors did not lighten as they bowed and took possession of the chairs Diana indicated. Thrills of dread were coursing down her spine and her knees were weak enough to cause her to be glad to take her own seat. She felt a horrible uncertainty as to her own responsibility in the tragedy.
The physician, as the most aggrieved party, spoke first: "Mr. Loring was my patient," he said, speaking with some accent. "From what his valet tells us you should be able to throw some light on what has occurred." The speaker's frown darkened as hespoke. This wretched girl had robbed him, no one could tell of how much. "Mr. Loring did not know you, had never seen you—"
"Let me question the young lady," interrupted the lawyer. If this girl in the rich garments and the luxurious suite were an adventuress planning to get money from the sick man, she had staged herself well. She was beautiful and her eyes now were large with horror, perhaps with guilt.
"How did you manage to get into Mr. Loring's apartment?"
"I wrote him a note requesting him to see me," faltered Diana. "He is—he is a sort of relation of mine."
"It would be a little difficult to tell just what relation, I dare say," put in the doctor, nodding. "Odd that you couldn't let a sick man get a bit acclimated on his return before you forced yourself, an utter stranger, into his rooms—"
"Wait a bit, Dr. Veldt," said the lawyer, interrupting again. "Let us have your full name, please," he added, turning to the culprit.
"Diana Wilbur," said the girl. "Did you not find the note I wrote Mr. Loring?"
"No. The valet followed his master's orders and destroyed the note as soon as youwere gone. Marlitt is completely unstrung. He couldn't remember anything about your communication except that Mr. Loring told him that he was about to have a visit from a schoolgirl. Marlitt said that you finally left the room in tears and that his master collapsed."
"And it looks like manslaughter, that's what it looks like, manslaughter," said the doctor angrily.
Diana's very lips grew pale. "Oh, gentlemen," she said, and her quiet voice trembled, "please be very careful what you say. Supposing anything about me should get into the papers."
"Yes, Dr. Veldt," said the lawyer quickly, "we should be careful in our accusations. Remember that Mr. Loring had sustained two strokes before his return. His interview with me yesterday morning was a draught upon him."
Diana turned toward the lawyer and clasped her hands. "Oh, yes," she said. "He told me he had destroyed his will—"
"Aha," said the doctor, nodding his big gray head again, "we begin to see light. His will. That is what you were interested in, eh? A sort of relation, eh?"
"Gentlemen," said Mrs. Lowell suddenlytaking part in the interview, "I think it might help you in your judgments to know that Miss Wilbur is the only child of Charles Wilbur, the steel man of Philadelphia."
Her announcement had a dramatic effect. The doctor's mouth opened mutely as he stared. The lawyer's brow cleared and he looked curiously at Diana and bowed.
"You see," said the girl unsteadily, "it would be dreadful if anything about me in connection with this shocking occurrence should get into the papers, for I meant no harm. Mr. Loring was a distant connection of my father's and I went to him in behalf of some one else—" she hesitated.
"Can you tell why your visit should have so excited him?" asked the lawyer.
"Yes. It was because I spoke of his daughter."
"Will you repeat to us just what you said to him?"
"I will tellyou. It is a matter for a lawyer."
"Miss Wilbur," said Dr. Veldt, rising and speaking in a voice which he strove not to make too unlike his previous manner, "we cannot tell, until the post mortem takes place, just what caused this death, but I hope theresult of the investigation may be enlightenment that will set your mind at rest. Since you wish to speak with Mr. Wrenn, I will leave you and hope that he will be able to assist you in your problem, whatever it may be. Good-morning." And with what grace he could muster, the physician left the room.
Diana sank back in her chair and Mrs. Lowell saw her exhaustion.
"Shall I tell our story to Mr. Wrenn?" she asked.
The girl nodded.
"Miss Wilbur has generously thrown herself into the thick of a problem which has been absorbing me in the last weeks," she began, and then she proceeded to tell the details of their experience.
The lawyer listened with close attention. "So, on the impulse of the moment, we came to Boston, arriving yesterday morning, and Miss Wilbur's request to see Mr. Loring was met by an appointment by him for three-thirty, which she kept."
"He was very gracious to me," said Diana, "and I was very hopeful at first." She stopped to control the quivering of her lips.
"How did you proceed?" asked the lawyer kindly.
"I told him the boy's story, and he advised me to keep out of that sort of entanglement in another's affairs. I was frightened then, but I continued because, of course, I could not relinquish the matter there, and finally, I told him that the boy was his grandson." Diana's voice stopped again, and she shook her head.
"He became excited, heated?" asked the lawyer encouragingly.
"No; cold, stern. He—he repulsed me and utterly repudiated the whole matter. He said there was not even the—the echo of a memory left." Diana lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Poor little Helen. I knew her well," said the lawyer thoughtfully.
"You did know Bertie's mother?" said Mrs. Lowell with interest. "Then you will be able to judge of the sketch a lonely little boy made of her."
"We had put this matter into the hands of Mrs. Lowell's husband, who is a lawyer in New York," said Diana. "We expected to have a long search for Bertie's grandfather, but, as Mrs. Lowell has told you, my mother, all unconsciously gave us the information we needed, and then—Oh, Mr.Wrenn, how could I do otherwise, and yet it is—so dreadful to think—" Again Diana covered her eyes.
"Don't think it, Miss Wilbur," said the lawyer decidedly. "You did what was womanly and brave. Had you come to me, instead of going directly to Mr. Loring, it might possibly have been better, but how can we know? My client and old friend was immovably set against the daughter who defied him, and if the intense feeling which your plea roused in him was a boomerang that laid him low, that is not your fault, and couldn't possibly have been foreseen. Now, dismiss that fear from your thoughts. A condition has arisen which perhaps has not occurred to either of you ladies. From what you tell me, it looks as if the boy who has interested you may really be Herbert Loring's grandson. That will have to be proved, and doubtless the avaricious uncle has the proofs if they exist. That once accomplished, this lad will be sole heir to a considerable fortune, for there is no will."
Mrs. Lowell and Diana exchanged a look.
"Mr. Wrenn," said Mrs. Lowell quickly, "Mr. Gayne is capable of any brutality. He will see Mr. Loring's death in the papers—"
"But he does not know that there is no will," the lawyer reminded her, "and he will probably come to me with proofs that the boy should inherit. That would naturally be his next step. Do you think the boy's mentality has been hopelessly impaired?"
"I do not," said Mrs. Lowell, and her face grew radiant. "When once the slave is freed, God will take care of Bertie's mentality."
The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon her gravely. "Young Herbert has a good friend in you," he said.
"Oh, Mr. Wrenn," exclaimed Diana fervently, "if you can get Mrs. Lowell to supervise his life for the next five years, you will do the best thing that could be done for him in all the world."
The lawyer nodded, still with thoughtful eyes on Mrs. Lowell's speaking face. She was thanking God as she sat there that the crushing burden was being lifted from one of His little ones.
"Mr. Loring's funeral will be a rather sad and perfunctory ceremony," said Mr. Wrenn. "For several years he has absented himself from this country most of the time. He is not rich in even poor relations. I remember a few names which were mentioned in thewill which was destroyed yesterday, and I am sure he would wish me to respect his wishes and give moderate sums to those beneficiaries, for he stated that he should not change that clause. I wonder if you ladies might be willing to stay over for the funeral. I am certain that Mr. Gayne will attend it and see me afterward."
A compassion that swept through Diana at remembrance of the tired eyes and the helpless figure in its rich wrappings caused her to give her consent to remain for the funeral.
She wired her mother that, being in Boston for a few days, she should attend that ceremony, and was disconcerted to receive a return message stating that her mother would also attend, her father not having returned from his cruise. She showed this to Mrs. Lowell, and the latter was privately amused at the consternation betrayed by the girl at the prospect of welcoming a parent.
"Of course, it won't be necessary to trouble her with any details," said Mrs. Lowell, and Diana pressed her hand in token that she appreciated the comfort of her perception.
The first thought Mrs. Lowell had, upon seeing Mrs. Wilbur, was: "What a handsomeman Diana's father must be," for the girl did not get her beauty from this plump little lady with the short nose, wide mouth, and small eyes. Even Mrs. Wilbur's grand air, erect carriage, and perfect dress could not make her a stately figure, although it was her habit to consider herself one, and her plump little jeweled hand wielded a lorgnette in a manner which entitled her to a Roman nose and impressive height. Her maid, Léonie, was with her, and looked after her mistress with what seemed to Mrs. Lowell an amazing knowledge of her needs and wishes.
"Look at your hands!" was Mrs. Wilbur's greeting of her daughter. "I know you have not worn gloves."
Diana bent down to her in all meekness. "Not continuously, Mamma," she said. "They will very soon blanch again."
"You're coming right home with me after this sad, sad affair, of course," continued Mrs. Wilbur. "How strange that you happened to be in Boston, and fortunate, too. Your father would have liked us to show this attention." By this time they were in Mrs. Wilbur's suite in the hotel, and she turned to Mrs. Lowell. "I am grateful to you for taking care of this child of mine," she said."I don't like to tell her how well she looks, for it encourages her in such a prank as this island summer."
"It has proved a good plan for her, I'm sure," responded Mrs. Lowell.
"But enough is enough," said Mrs. Wilbur. "She is rested now and our friends are always asking for her. No more island."
"Dear Mamma, do not be so determined, for Mrs. Lowell and I just came here for a few days and I shall have to return and gather my belongings together at least."
"Very well, then I will go with you and look at it myself."
Mrs. Lowell could with difficulty repress a smile at the way Diana's eyes enlarged with apprehension.
"You would not like it, dear, you would not like it," she said earnestly.
"Then why do you?" responded her mother defiantly.
"Because I like roughing it. I like camping."
"Well," sighed Mrs. Wilbur, "I am so near, I may as well look at it."
"What would you do in a house without a bathroom?" asked Diana.
The blank, incredulous look with whichMrs. Wilbur met her daughter's question made Mrs. Lowell expect her parted lips to utter: "There ain't no such animal." But the lady merely said, reproachfully: "How can you like it there, Diana?"
"My ancestors had no bathtubs," replied the girl. "Then, besides, we have the ocean."
"Well," sighed Mrs. Wilbur, "the funeral comes first. I suppose Mr. Loring was confined to his room so you couldn't happen to see him about the hotel."
Diana cast a glance at Mrs. Lowell before she replied: "I did see him, though, Mamma." The girl felt very certain that the episode could never be finished without this fact transpiring.
"You did?" Mrs. Wilbur sat up with great interest. "That explains why you have seemed to me a little sad ever since I came. You saw the poor man. How did it happen?"
"I wrote him a note and asked him if I could call. I reminded him that we were related—" She hesitated.
"Why, Diana Wilbur, I never heard of anything so extraordinary! You dear lamb, how pleased your father will be! Mrs. Lowell," she turned to that lady, "do you wonder I'm proud of this child? Do you believe thatone young girl in a thousand would take the trouble to pay such an attention to an elderly relative whom she had never seen?"
Mrs. Lowell was saved from the embarrassment of replying, for Diana spoke hurriedly:
"It isn't what you think, Mamma. I went to him on an errand—some one else's errand."
Mrs. Wilbur put up her lorgnette the better to view her daughter's crimsoning cheeks and quivering lips.
"Tell me what it was, at once," she commanded. "Who dared to make use of you in such a way?"
"No one," protested the girl. "It was my own idea, but please don't ask me to tell you of it now. I have had such a shock—I am really not able to talk about it yet."
"Very well, then, I will wait." Mrs. Wilbur's dilated nostrils expressed her displeasure. "But this proves that you are, just as I have felt, too young to be wandering about on your own. I should not have allowed you to leave me." As she finished, the mother swept Mrs. Lowell with a condemning glance in which she withdrew all her previous approval of that lady.
Mrs. Lowell understood it, but she spoke pleasantly: "When the right time comes for you to learn what brought us to Boston, you will find that your daughter deserves only approval," she said in her quiet, cheerful manner.
Mrs. Wilbur's nostrils still dilated and she used her fan in a majestic silence.
Herbert Loring's funeral was conducted in the church to which he had been a contributor for many years. Distant connections of the family, old business friends, and curiosity-seekers made a gathering of average size, and among those seated, toward the back of the audience, was Nicholas Gayne.
The astute lawyer's expectation of a visit from him was not disappointed. Indeed, Luther Wrenn came to his office at an earlier hour than usual the following morning, entirely in honor of that gentleman.
On the drive to the cemetery the day of the funeral, Mr. Wrenn had placed Diana, her mother, and Mrs. Lowell in the motor with himself. There was little said on the way out. The lawyer was well known by reputation to Mrs. Wilbur, and the only drawback to her satisfaction in the arrangement was Diana's preoccupation and the knowledge that interesting information was being kept back from her. Mrs. Wilbur had not only sent lavish gifts of flowers to the church, but, there seeming to be no one but paidworkers to attend to the decorations, she had personally supervised them, and, coming back from the cemetery, the lawyer expressed his appreciation of her kindness and her presence in a manner to apply much balm. However, he turned directly from his respectful laudation of Mrs. Wilbur to her daughter.
"How long can you and Mrs. Lowell stay on?" he asked, and the mother became alert. His manner signified previous acquaintance with Diana.
"Just as long as is necessary," was the girl's surprising reply.
"I am certain that Gayne will call on me the first thing to-morrow morning, and I should like you to remain near the telephone if you will."
"Certainly," replied Diana.
"Mr. Wrenn, I don't understand what you are asking of my daughter," said Mrs. Wilbur crisply.
"Ah,"—the lawyer bowed gravely. "Perhaps you have not been told of the surprising turn events have taken. It is a matter which requires secrecy until identities are established and evil-doers circumvented. Let me congratulate you, Mrs. Wilbur, on a remarkably fine and intelligent daughter. She is acredit to your bringing-up. Not many mothers can boast of having instilled such prudence."
The lady leaned back in her corner, not certain whether to accept this disarming, or to insist immediately upon her rights. She decided to compromise and wait until they reached the hotel.
"My daughter tells you she can wait in Boston as long as is necessary," she said at last, "and her mother will have to understand the necessity."
"Certainly, Mrs. Wilbur," responded the lawyer. "We have found ourselves in a totally unexpected situation. Mr. Herbert Loring destroyed his will and died before he could make another."
Mrs. Wilbur exclaimed. Mr. Loring was known to be wealthy and she was interested in fortunes. Her brain began working actively on the probabilities of the heirs.
"The next strange event is that your young daughter has probably found the heir."
Mrs. Wilbur raised her lorgnette and regarded Diana, drooping opposite, as if she were a new discovery.
"I wish to understand," she said with dignity.
"It seems that Mr. Loring's disobedientdaughter left a son whose existence has been unsuspected unless Mr. Loring himself knew of it, which he never betrayed. Your daughter and Mrs. Lowell have found the boy."
"Not I," protested Diana. "Mrs. Lowell, in her sweet unselfishness, deserves all the credit. I should have paid no attention to him, but I—it was through your letter, Mamma, that I found the boy's grandfather."
"We all had a hand in it, then, it seems," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"The boy's uncle has possession of him. His father and mother are both dead, and, according to these ladies, the uncle can qualify as the world's meanest man. So we proceed carefully until the proofs which he is supposed to have are in hand. You, Mrs. Wilbur, will aid us in silence on the subject until the right time for speaking."
"How old is he, Diana?" burst forth the lady. "What does he look like? Is he clever and worthy of such a heritage?"
"He is a poor, shabby, ill-treated boy about fourteen years old. He has never had a chance, but I scarcely know him. Mrs. Lowell is the one who discovered him and cared for him."
Mrs. Wilbur glanced at Mrs. Lowell, butshe could not bring herself to ask her a question. She felt a vague jealousy and sense of injury at finding this stranger in her child's confidence and aiding and abetting her in so much independence of action.
As soon as possible after the reception of Mrs. Wilbur's enlightening letter at the island, Mrs. Lowell had wired her husband that the search was ended before it had begun, and he returned Diana's check with congratulations.
"What an amazed boy that will be, Mr. Wrenn," remarked Mrs. Wilbur. "What is his name?"
"Herbert Loring Gayne."
"H'm. I suppose his mother had all sorts of hope that with a son of that name she could placate her father."
"Doubtless she did," replied the lawyer, "and I wish it might have proved so. Perhaps they would both have been alive to-day had she succeeded, but my old friend Loring never mentioned her to me and I don't know what efforts she made. There must be a good deal of delay before the young heir can come into his own."
"I suppose so," sighed Mrs. Wilbur. "That tiresome law moves slowly."
Diana looked up with sudden attention. "But we must not be dilatory in rescuing the boy."
Mr. Wrenn nodded. "If he is proved to be the right one."
"There can be no doubt of it," said Mrs. Lowell.
"Not to charming, sympathetic ladies, of course," returned the lawyer with a smile.
"I feel that every day counts," said Mrs. Lowell. "He must be removed from that mental malaria as soon as possible."
"I will—" began Diana, and then she glanced at her mother,—"I mean Mamma will gladly finance him, I'm sure, for the present."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilbur with dignity, "when you see fit to tell me the whole story. I'm sure I haven't it yet."
"There is no reason to burden you, Mamma, with disagreeable considerations," said Diana meekly. "I can myself look after the boy's needs."
"Yes, she can," said Mrs. Wilbur in an offended tone. "What do you think, Mr. Wrenn, of a father who insists on giving a young girl an unlimited check-book, not requiring her to give any account of what she does with money?"
The lawyer smiled at the embarrassed culprit. "I think that your husband has proved himself a very good reader of character all through his career."
Mrs. Wilbur bounced back into her corner. She didn't intend to bounce; she intended to lean back gracefully, with an air of renouncing all interest in this matter which had proceeded so far without her coöperation, but just at that moment the car went over a "thank-you-ma'am."
As has already been said, Luther Wrenn, the following morning, sought his office at an earlier hour than was customary, and Nicholas Gayne was there before him.
He did not keep him waiting long, and the stocky figure and dark face soon appeared in the private office.
The lawyer regarded the stranger over his eye-glasses.
"I didn't have any card," said the visitor. "My name is Gayne, Nicholas Gayne."
"Be seated, sir. What is your errand?"
"I would like to be present at the reading of the Herbert Loring will." The speaker's manner was confident, and he seemed endeavoring to repress excitement.
"Indeed? Are you a relative?"
"No, but my nephew is. I have a great surprise for you, Mr. Wrenn. My nephew is Herbert Loring's grandson and namesake." Nicholas Gayne marveled at the self-control of a lawyer, for Luther Wrenn's expression did not change. "I visited Mr. Loring before he went abroad the last time, but he would not listen to me or look at my proofs. So I suppose he has not mentioned his grandson in his will, and, if that is the fact, I wish to retain you to break the will." This declaration was made with great energy and a flash of the speaker's dark eyes.
"You have proofs, then," said Mr. Wrenn, after a short hesitation, perhaps to make sure of the retention of that self-control.
"Yes, right here." Gayne caught up from the floor a small black leather bag, and opened it. "Here are the letters Bert's mother wrote her father to try for a reconciliation. Returned unopened, you see. Here is her picture. Perhaps you knew her."
Luther Wrenn took the small card photograph and gazed at it long.
"My brother was an irresponsible sort of chap. At the time he met Miss Loring, he had put through a good deal and was riding on top of the wave. She was artistic in her tastes,and he met her through the artist set at Gloucester, where she was that summer, and she took a fancy to him that her father couldn't break off. Unfortunate, you'll say, but Lambert was a stunning-looking chap and she decided firmly on her course. So now here is this boy and the law should protect his rights. Here's the record of his birth fourteen years ago, in her own writing; perhaps you know her writing." Gayne was talking fast and excitedly, and Wrenn took from his hand one after another of the proofs he offered and laid them on his desk with no change of countenance.
"What sort of a boy is your nephew?" he asked. "A bright boy?"
Gayne's face changed. He looked away. "Well, no. I can't say he is. Bert is delicate. He needs all sorts of care, care that takes heaps of money to pay for. I haven't been able to do for him what I'd like to. As soon as you get his money for him, I shall engage professional care and see that he has the best. I'm a good business man, if I do say it, and I'll see that his funds multiply until he is able to look after his fortune himself."
Luther Wrenn nodded. "I see," he said; and he did, very plainly. "Now, there will beno reading of the will, Mr. Gayne. That is all attended to. So you may leave this matter with me."
"Was the boy mentioned?" asked Gayne eagerly.
"No; no mention of him."
"You think you can get some money, though, don't you?"
"Possibly. I'll see you again."
"There ain't any kind of doubt that he's the genuine grandson," said Gayne, rising reluctantly, as the lawyer got to his feet.
"Your proofs seem to be convincing," was the grave reply.
"Well, could you—couldn't you advance me something now for Bert's care? He needs a lot of things, that boy does."
"You go too swiftly, Mr. Gayne. Come back here at three o'clock day after to-morrow."
Gayne looked at the papers and picture strewn on the lawyer's desk. "I don't know about leaving the only proofs of our rights that I've got."
Luther Wrenn turned to the desk and gathered them up. "Certainly. Take them to some lawyer in whom you have confidence."
"Oh, pshaw, no," said Gayne sheepishly. "I didn't mean that. You were Mr. Loring'slawyer. You're the one to handle the case."
"Good-day, then, Mr. Gayne."
"Good-day," and Nicholas took his departure.
As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wrenn seated himself at the desk and called up the Copley-Plaza. Diana was waiting.
"Miss Wilbur?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Wrenn speaking. Mr. Gayne has been here. Please wire at once to the island and get some one to bring the boy to your hotel as soon as possible."
"Yes, Mr. Wrenn."
"I think Mr. Barrison is the one to ask," said Diana to Mrs. Lowell, who was waiting near.
So it was that an hour later Philip Barrison was called to the telephone at the island store to receive a telegram.
"I know what it is!" exclaimed Barney Kelly. "'All Saints' is going to outbid 'The Apostles' for you. You're the rising young beggar."
He wandered down with Philip to the store and loitered about outside talking to Matt Blake. When Philip reappeared, it was with a hurried air.
"Want anything in Boston?" he asked.
"Of course, we do—the Brahms, but what's up?"
"I've got to go. Wire from Miss Wilbur."
"Aha," said Kelly, following Philip's long strides to the express wagon which Blake was just mounting.
"No, no, no," returned Philip. "Naught personal. No such luck. Hello, Matt, going up-along?"
"Yes."
"See you later, Kelly, I have to go up to Miss Burridge's." And Philip jumped into the seat beside the driver.
"No, you guessed wrong. You're going to see me right along," returned Barney, hopping up on the tail of the wagon and letting his feet hang over, while he whistled cheerily.
"I have to get the afternoon boat, Matt," explained Philip. "Miss Wilbur wants me to bring the Gayne boy to Boston in a hurry."
Blake looked around alertly as his horse pulled slowly up the hill to the road. "Miss Wilbur?" he repeated. "Why didn't his uncle send for him? He is there."
"Is he?" asked Philip carelessly. "I didn't know the island had been deprived of his artistic presence."
"Yes. You bet he lit out when he saw by the paper that the millionaire he's had his eye on was dead." Blake shook his head. "There must be something doing or Miss Wilbur wouldn't be sending for the kid."
"Oh, you know she and Mrs. Lowell made a protégé of him. My idea is they want to give him some kind of a treat, but I must say I'm surprised at the importance she seems to put on my bringing him—dead or alive, as you might say. She says if he holds back, through fear of his uncle's displeasure, to tell the boy his uncle is there."
"Oh, yes, he's there, believe me. Keep itunder your hat, but that old souse has got it all fixed that the boy is the grandson of that Herbert Loring who has just died, and that he's going to get a slice o' the money. Now you might as well know, Phil, as long as you're doing the errand, that Gayne's a skunk. He's counting on shutting that boy up and gettin' the money himself. He told me so one time when he was half-seas over. Believe me, I feel sorry for that kid. If he ever had any spirit, he's had it squeezed out of him. By George, I'd like to have those ladies know Gayne's plans."
"They certainly must be greatly interested in the boy to take all this trouble," said Philip. "I knew they were very much stirred up over Gayne's treatment of Bert, but I don't know whether they're aware of how far he intends to carry it. I'm glad you've told me this. I fancy we shall find that their plan is to give the boy a show or two and some ice-cream instead of a fortune. Bert Gayne, Herbert Loring's heir!" scoffed Philip. "Don't make me laugh. My lip's cracked. However, I'll oblige those two corking women and bring him to them, by the scruff of the neck, if necessary. Ever see the Copley-Plaza, Matt? If you did, you can make apicture of me making a grand entrance there with Bert."
"I do feel sorry for that kid," repeated Blake with feeling.
"So do I, and after what you say, I'm wondering why Gayne is keeping himself in the background and letting the goddess Diana take charge."
"I wish her luck," said Matt emphatically. "I wish her luck."
Arrived where the road branches away to the Inn, Philip and his friend left the wagon and struck off through the field. Halfway across they met Miss Emerson, walking triumphantly between Mr. Pratt and Mr. Evans, a parasol over her shoulder. It is not well to sun soft ripples of hair, when the head that grew them is far across the seas.
"Good-morning," she cried gayly; "we're going to the post-office. Can we do anything for you?"
"Thank you," said Barney. "We've just come from there. You might write me a letter or two, Miss Emerson, while you're waiting. I've been neglected since I've been here."
"I shall be delighted," she returned, regarding his tanned face and permanent wavewith high approval. "I love to write. I even like pencil and paper games, verbarium, and crambo, and all those. I've been trying to convert these men. I wish you would both come up and spend the evening and let me show you how much fun it is."
There was a wild look in the grave faces of her escorts which advised caution.
"You're always so kind, Miss Emerson," said Kelly.
"Shall we see you at dinner?" she asked.
"Depends on how good your eyes are," said Philip pleasantly. "We dine at home and then I'm off for Boston."
"Really? How can you bear to leave here!" Miss Emerson waved her parasol as the young men nodded and passed on.
"I think that Mr. Kelly is perfectly delightful," she said as they pursued their way. "So full of fun always." Then she proceeded to tell her captives how many words could be made from the one: c-a-r-p-e-t.
Philip and Barney walked around to the front of the Inn and there were Veronica and the unconscious young Herbert, leaning over the sweet-pea bed. Veronica was using the trowel and the boy was weeding. He glanced up under his lashes, then went on with hiswork. Veronica rose and welcomed the arrivals.
"You see, Aunt Priscilla keeps us at it, Mr. Barrison. She isn't going to have your garden neglected, and just look at the buds."
"Fine. In another week they'll be a show."
"And a smell," said Barney fervently. "I adore them. You look rather sweet-peaish yourself, Miss Veronica," he added, regarding her gingham gown of fine pink-and-white checks. "Do you know you're going to have me on your hands the next few days?"
"What's going to happen?" asked Veronica.
"There is going to be a dance at the hall to-night," suggested Barney.
"I know it," returned Veronica. "Can you dance?"
Barney looked at her reproachfully. "It's a land sport. How can you ask? A duck can swim and Kelly can dance. Will you take me? I'm shy."
"If Mr. Barrison will allow it," said Veronica with a demure glance at Philip.
"Not a word to Puppa. I promise," he said.
"What a pity Miss Diana isn't here!" she exclaimed.
"I shall see her to-morrow," returned Philip.
"You going to Boston?"
"'M-h'm."
"That's what I'm telling you," said Kelly. "You mustn't allow me to get lonely. We'll row in the cove."
"Really go near the water?" replied Veronica, laughing incredulously.
"Yes. Aunt Maria is stuffing me like a Thanksgiving turkey. No tennis, I just natchelly had to get a boat—without a motor, be it well understood."
"That's fun," said Veronica, her eyes shining. She hoped Philip would stay away indefinitely. "If Mr. Kelly could really dance—"
Meanwhile Philip had stood watching the boy's slender hands pulling out weeds.
"Aren't you going to speak to me, Bert?"
"I—yes. How do you do?" The lad was so used to being overlooked by everybody except Mrs. Lowell and Diana that Philip's question surprised him and he rose and looked at him.
"Do you miss Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur?" asked Philip.
"Yes."
"His uncle has gone, too," said Veronica. "We have had some good times all alone, haven't we, Bert? He is learning to play croquet and he helps me with the garden."
The boy regarded her in silence and with no change of expression. Philip thought or imagined that in his dull, undeveloped way he resented the girl's kindly tone of patronage. He caught the lad's eye again.
"I am going to see Mrs. Lowell and Miss Wilbur. Would you like to go with me to see them?"
Color stole up into Bert's face and he brushed the clinging soil from his hands.
"Yes.—No," he said.
"I am going to Boston this afternoon," continued Philip, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. "The ladies would like to have you come with me."
"No," returned the boy. "I have to—to wait here for—for Uncle Nick."
"Oh, he is there, too," returned Philip. "They have made some plan. We shall be all together there just as we were here. It won't take you long to get ready. I'll help you."
"No," said the boy breathlessly. "Uncle Nick—"
"But Mrs. Lowell wants you."
"No. Uncle Nick doesn't want—Mrs. Lowell—"
"Oh, boy, you know Mrs. Lowell wouldn't ask you to do anything that would get you into any trouble," said Philip pleasantly. "Perhaps your uncle has decided not to come back to the island. At any rate, they want you there in Boston and they sent me a telegram asking me to bring you. So it is up to us to do what they say. Don't you think so? Come upstairs and I'll help you get ready."
The boy's stolid habit of obedience stood Philip in good stead now. With heightened color, but no other change in his face, he followed to his room, washed his face and hands, and got into his shabby best while Philip found a comb and brush and toothbrush, and put them into a paper parcel. Returning downstairs, they found Veronica consuming with curiosity, but considerably entertained by her future dance partner, who was teaching her a new step by means of his blunt finger-tips on the porch rail.
"I'm going to take Bert home to dinner with me, Veronica. So say good-bye and expect us when you see us. Where's Miss Burridge?"
"Oh, Aunt Priscilla!" shouted Veronica at the kitchen door. "Come out. Bertie Gayne is going to Boston with Mr. Barrison."
Miss Burridge emerged wiping her hands on a towel. The other went to meet her.
"How nice!" she said, beaming. "What a nice outing for Bertie. That's real clever of you, Philip. How did you happen to think of it?"
"Well, his friends in Boston want him," said Philip, and he administered a wink which Miss Burridge understood sufficiently to postpone a catechism until later. The boy allowed her and Veronica to shake his passive hand in bidding him good-bye and then he went away with his companions with no further questioning.
When they were gone, Miss Burridge exclaimed her astonishment.
"Mr. Barrison received a wire, that's all I know," said Veronica. "The youngster's in mortal terror of his uncle, but Mr. Barrison told him his uncle was there and it was all right. Miss Wilbur or else Mrs. Lowell sent the telegram. Sort of queer they should be hobnobbing with old Nick, but perhaps he let them send the wire to save expense."
Philip made conscientious efforts toentertain his young charge on their trip. In Portland, where they spent the night, he bought some magazines, naturally guessing that the more filled with pictures they were the better, and he was puzzled at the evident shrinking from the illustrations that the boy displayed.
"Something seriously off with the poor little nut," he thought. "Any boy likes to look at pictures."
So he left him in peace and let him stare apathetically from the car window all the way to Boston, or doze in his corner.
Philip wired Diana just before they took the train, and she ordered luncheon to be served in her rooms. She wished very much that some kind turn of Fortune's wheel would call her mother forth to the shops that morning, but by reason of the fragments Mrs. Wilbur overheard passing between her child and Mrs. Lowell or the lawyer, her curiosity as to this waif who might be going to carry on the Loring fortunes became sufficiently vivid to determine her to remain where she could oversee all that her daughter did.
"Who did you say is bringing the boy on?" she asked Diana that morning.
"His name is Barrison."
"You wired him to do this?"
"Yes, Mamma."
"How could you ask it? Is he a servant?"
"No, Mamma, he is a professional singer taking his vacation at the island."
Mrs. Wilbur looked at the girl closely. "You must have become rather friendly with him to ask such a favor?"
Mrs. Lowell glanced up from a glove she was mending. "Everybody is friendly at the island, Mrs. Wilbur. It is one of the assets of the simple life. As one of the men at the Inn said: 'Every time you go out the door, you wade up to your knees in the milk of human kindness.'"
Mrs. Wilbur regarded her coldly. "An inexperienced schoolgirl cannot discriminate," she said. "I felt all the time that Diana should not go there."
Her dominating tone was significant of the relation she, contrary to the experience of most American mothers, had succeeded in retaining with her daughter. The average American girl of Diana's age would have had no difficulty in telling her mother that the expected boy would be embarrassed by the presence of a stranger and requesting her, more or less agreeably, to return to herapartments. Not so Diana. Her mother plied her now with additional questions about Herbert Loring's heir.
"For mercy's sake," said Mrs. Wilbur at last, "I should judge from what you say that the boy isn't far off melancholia."
Mrs. Lowell sighed unconsciously. Mrs. Wilbur heard her, but did not understand the reason for it.
"Well, don't ask me to lunch with him. I am sure he would make me nervous," added the lady.
"I think it quite likely he would, Mamma," said her daughter dutifully, one of her problems disappearing. "There certainly will be an interesting evolution observable in him very soon, but just at first his limitations might annoy you."
"Well, I'll just stay long enough to look at him and then I will go," returned Mrs. Wilbur.
She used her lorgnette upon the pair of guests when they were ushered in, but her interest in the silent boy was quickly transferred to the tall, attractive blond man with the flashing smile and sparkling eyes, who greeted her daughter with such accustomed friendliness.
"Mamma, may I present Mr. Barrison," said Diana serenely.
Philip's smile vanished and he bowed. His manner, Mrs. Wilbur thought, was unpleasantly good.
"And this is Herbert Gayne, Mamma," went on Diana.
The boy's eyes roved to the plump lady, who came forward and took his hand.
"I knew your grandfather, my dear child," she said, and she glanced over his shabby figure, appalled that the name of Loring could ever fall so low.
Bertie said nothing. What did the lady mean by talking about his grandfather? No one but his mother had ever done that.
A slight smile touched his lips as Mrs.Lowell greeted him, and then he looked over his shoulder and all about the flower-strewn room.
"Your uncle is not here," she said quietly. "He isn't coming, Bertie. We are going to have lunch alone."
The boy's melancholy eyes lifted to hers questioningly. She nodded reassuringly.
"Mr. Barrison, this is the key to Bert's room," said Diana. "Will you go up with him and then return here? Luncheon will be ready."
Philip took the key, and, wondering, escorted his charge to the elevator. "Bert's room," he said to himself. When they arrived there, the flowers on the dresser caused him to remember Matt Blake's absurd account, and he felt his first questioning as to whether ice-cream and a show or two did really cover the plans of these ladies for the boy. "But where is Uncle Nick?" was his mental query.
Herbert, second, looked about his bathroom. He had never seen anything in the slightest degree like it.
"Treating you pretty well, aren't they, old man?" said Philip, opening his bag and taking out the boy's worn brush and broken comb.
"Uncle Nick will be mad," said Bert.
"I heard Mrs. Lowell say that he wasn't coming," remarked Philip.
"Of course—he'll come," returned the boy. "And he'll—he'll beat me."
"Bet you a thousand dollars he won't," said Philip. "Have you any money with you?"
The boy felt in his pockets and brought forth a penny.
"That's all right," said Philip gayly. "If your Uncle Nick beats you, I'll give you a thousand dollars. If he doesn't, you are to give me that penny. Understand?"
Philip's smile was infectious. The corners of the boy's mouth twitched a little. The flowers on the dresser smelled sweet, so did the soap he was using. It was all like a wonderful dream, but over its brightness hung a dark cloud: Uncle Nick.
"All right," he said vaguely.
"Say, make it snappy, boy. I'm as hungry as a bear, aren't you? Here's a nailbrush. Better use it."
Bert hurried, and finally dried his hands and brushed his hair obediently. As much as he noticed anybody he had always noticed and liked Philip from the day that he watchedhim paint the Inn sign, and now, in spite of his apprehensions, he felt some stimulation from the company of this big strong man who was going to give him a thousand dollars if Uncle Nick should beat him.
While he was brushing his hair, the telephone rang. Philip answered it. It was Diana speaking.
"I want to thank you so much for doing this errand for us. I know you must be mystified by the urgency of my wire, and this is my best way to tell you in a few words what has occurred. You can see that the matter is confidential, for time and labor and the law will be necessary to adjust matters, but I feel we owe it to you to tell you all. Of course, the boy knows nothing as yet—"
When Philip finally turned from the telephone, he met his companion's troubled gaze, the hairbrush hung suspended in the air.
"Was it Uncle Nick?" he asked.
"No," returned Philip. He continued to sit still for a minute, regarding the unconscious millionaire with the penny in the pocket of his outgrown trousers. "It's all right, old man. Miss Wilbur wants us to come down to lunch, that's all."
As they went to the elevator to descend,the boy spoke again: "Uncle Nick hates—he hates Mrs. Lowell," he said.
"Good thing he isn't coming, then, isn't it?" returned Philip.
"But he'll—he will come sometime," said Bert with conviction.
Arrived at Diana's suite, they found luncheon ready to be served. Mrs. Wilbur had vanished, not without some uneasy comments upon Philip, which Diana had answered with such utter serenity as to quiet any suspicion she might have entertained that there was something personal in her child's extraordinary attachment to the wilderness.
The four sat down to the charming little meal, and, in spite of the boy's unconquerable apprehensions, he ate pretty well, as he sat there opposite Philip and between Mrs. Lowell and Diana.
The former asked him about the garden and the croquet ground, while Philip addressed himself to Diana, who wore the gray gown with a rose at the belt, although she had felt she could never put it on again. The contents of a suitcase do not admit of much variety of costume.
"I'm almost dumb with surprise at your news," he said.
"Of course you would be."
"Does the ogre know of the arrival of relatives?"
"He has not the least suspicion of it. He will be told to-morrow."
"Can a can be tied to him?"
Bert was telling about weeding the garden with Veronica, and Diana leaned a little toward Philip. "What—what was your question?"
Philip smiled. "I asked if it would be possible to eliminate the gentleman."
"I think so. Mr. Loring's lawyer is, of course, attending to the whole matter and is to see him for the second time to-morrow. Does any one doubt that truth is stranger than fiction?"
"No." Philip looked across at Mrs. Lowell and the sweet regard she was bending upon the boy, who was trying in his hesitating way to tell her something about the beach.
Bert put his hand in his pocket, and Philip wondered if he were going to produce his capital, but instead he drew forth a little yellow stone and offered it to his friend.
"That is unusually lovely," she said, and held it up to the light before she handed it back.
"No, it is for you," said the boy. Sad as he may have maintained that it made him to be in this lady's company, her gentle presence was irresistible to him, and his face, as he handed back to her the little stone, had a more interested expression than his friends had ever seen it wear.
"It is to go—with the others in—in a bottle," he said.
"It is almost too nice for that. I think this is a little gem. Supposing I take it to a lapidary, a man who polishes stones, and have it made into a scarf-pin for you."
"No, for you," said the boy.
Philip and Diana exchanged a look.
"There is 'the greatest thing in the world' working again," he said.
They had just finished dessert when Miss Wilbur was called to the telephone.
"Ask him to come up to my room," she answered.
"Is it—Uncle Nick?" asked Bert, his light extinguished.
"No," returned Mrs. Lowell, smiling reassuringly. "You must remember I told you he is not coming."
Philip gave the boy his gay smile. "Bert thought he was going to make a thousanddollars," he said; but the rusty springs of the lad's mind could not respond quickly. He looked at the young man questioningly. "Don't you remember," added Philip, "we have a bet up, one thousand dollars to a cent?"
The boy did not answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Nothing which could be said was able entirely to quiet the apprehension that his uncle would walk in upon him, surrounded as he was by forbidden companions, and a luxury which his tyrant had not been invited to share.
"The gentleman who is coming to call on us is one who knew your mother," said Mrs. Lowell. "You will like to meet him."
"Is he—is he angry with her, too?" asked the boy quickly.
"No, dear child," returned Mrs. Lowell, compassion surging through her for this young life which knew so much of anger and so little of anything else.
The noiseless waiters were removing all signs of the luncheon when the door opened and Luther Wrenn entered.
As soon as he had greeted the ladies and Philip had been introduced, his smooth-shaven, keen face at once centered on theboy. Mrs. Lowell, her hand on Bert's arm, guided him to stand.
"This is Herbert Gayne, Mr. Wrenn, and this is your mother's friend, Bertie."
The boy's plaintive, spiritless gaze and the passive hand which the lawyer took bore out all he had heard of him, but Mrs. Lowell's expressive face was courageous and the lawyer sat down beside Herbert Loring's heir determined not to be outdone by her in hopefulness. Of course, he had been painstakingly told every detail concerning the boy which Mrs. Lowell had discovered, and it was a very kindly look with which he regarded his new client as they were seated near together.
"I brought my introduction with me, Herbert," he said, and feeling in a breast-pocket he drew forth the card photograph which had yesterday been put into his hands.
Color streamed over the boy's face when he saw it. "It is—it is like one I lost," he said, and he held it between his hands, studying it.
"You shall have this one, then," said Mr. Wrenn. "I was fond of your mother, Herbert."
"They were angry with her," said the boy, and his lip quivered at some memory.
"Yes, her father felt very badly because she went away from him, but he has gone to her now. Did you know that?"
The boy lifted his eyes to the thin, kindly face. "No," he said.
"Yes," went on Mr. Wrenn quietly. "Her father has gone to her in that pleasant world where she is."
"I want to go," burst forth the boy, holding the picture tightly.
"All in good time," returned the lawyer. "You have some work to do for her here first."
"Do you mean—weed the garden?"
"I mean quite a lot of very pleasant things. I'll tell you about them later."
"But Uncle Nick won't—won't let me. He—I don't know whether I can hide this picture." A sudden panic seemed to seize the boy, and he looked toward the door. It was not possible that his uncle would not come in upon all these totally forbidden proceedings.
"See here, Herbert,"—Mr. Wrenn leaned toward the lad, speaking very kindly. "I think it quite likely that you will never see your uncle again."
Some thought made the boy's eyesdilate. "He hasn't—gone where—where my mother is—has he?"
"No."
"I'm—I'm glad. He'd—he'd spoil heaven," declared Bertie earnestly.
Luther Wrenn nodded slowly. "An excellent description," he said. The three observers of the interview smiled. "Do you think you might adopt me in his place?" added the lawyer.
"He—he wouldn't let me. He'll come," said the boy with conviction.
"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn, with reassuring calm, "I know more about this than you do. I talked with your uncle yesterday and I think he will give you to me."
The boy's lips fell apart and he stared at the speaker gravely.
"To me, and to Mrs. Lowell. How would you like that?"
It was evident that this information could not be credited entirely, but the boy glanced around at Mrs. Lowell, who still sat close beside him, and she looked as if she believed this marvel. Unconsciously he pressed the picture against his breast. Luther Wrenn regarded the thin wrists and ankles protruding from the worn coat and trousers.
"Have you your sketch of your mother?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "Will you show it to Mr. Wrenn?"
The boy put his hand in a pocket and drew out the small folded square, and the lawyer felt some obstruction in his throat as he saw the worn tissue paper and the morsel of oiled silk being so tenderly unrolled.
"When I lost the one like—like this, I tried to—to make another," the boy explained.
Luther Wrenn put on his eye-glasses and examined the little sketch. He looked at Mrs. Lowell and nodded. "Save this," he said to the boy. "Go on being careful of it, for you will always be glad you made it, but you need never hide anything again. Do you understand that? We will get a case for this photograph so you can carry it in your pocket, and I can have an enlargement made of it so you can have it framed on your wall."
"I haven't—haven't any money," said Bertie, overwhelmed by these novel prospects, and convinced that this kindly visitor must be laboring under some great delusion. "I just have—have one cent, but—but I have to give that to—to Mr. Barrison if Uncle Nick doesn't—doesn't beat me. He bet me a thousand dollars."
Luther Wrenn gave a queer broken sort of laugh and wiped his eye-glasses. "Mr. Barrison has won," he said. "Always pay your debts, Herbert."
"Do you mean I—I shall give him the cent?"
"Your last cent, yes. He was right, you see, and it belongs to him."
The boy took out the penny and, rising gravely, crossed to Philip and proffered the coin.
Philip accepted it and bowed. "You are an honorable gentleman," he said.
Bert returned quickly to his chair and again possessed himself of the picture which he had given Mrs. Lowell to hold during the financial transaction.
"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn slowly, "I see that you were thinking that photograph cases and frames cost money. You will be glad to know that your grandfather—your mother's father, who has now gone to her—has left you some of his money. If you think of anything especial that you would like to have while you are here in Boston, you can buy it."
No one present ever forgot the boy's face as he spoke, looking up into the lawyer's eyes. "A pencil?" he said.
Luther Wrenn nodded and swallowed again. "Yes, pencils, paper, sketch-blocks, brushes, paints, anything you want. Just tell Mr. Barrison. I think he will take you out presently and get you the clothes you need—" The boy looked down over his old suit, quite dazed, and more than ever certain that all this must be a dream and that he should waken on his cot at the island and find the familiar dark face bending over him and some greeting, like "Get up, stupid," assailing his ears.
But he did not waken. Mrs. Lowell put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a little squeeze, and when he looked up he found her smiling at him.
Mr. Wrenn addressed her. "The more I see of the boy, the more I recognize a resemblance to his mother." He rose and crossed to Philip, who got to his feet. "Mr. Barrison, we are greatly indebted to you, and we wish to be more so. Can you oblige us by dressing this young client of mine this afternoon?"
"Delighted," replied Philip.
"What has he brought with him?"
"A brush and comb and toothbrush, all veterans, and all wounded."
"Very well. If you will get for him everything a boy needs for the remainder of the summer only, I shall be greatly obliged. Mrs. Lowell will make the list, I am sure, and you can help her if she gets lost. Have everything charged to me. Here is my card with the order, and here is a check for your traveling expenses on this trip."
"It is too much," said Philip as he saw the figure.
"Pretty accurate," said the lawyer. "I am calculating that you will stay in town over one night at least. If there is a balance you might send some roses to"—the door opened and a very dignified and extremely curious little lady entered: a quite plump and not entirely pleased little lady—"some roses to Mrs. Wilbur," finished the lawyer.
"Do you hear that, Mrs. Wilbur?" asked Philip. "Mr. Wrenn is telling me I may send you roses. Is that one word for me and two for himself?"
The lady shrugged her marvelously fitted shoulders, but she smiled. Even she could not help responding to Philip's vital spark. "It is my own private feeling that some attention should be paid to me," she returned, lifting her chin.
Philip approached her. "Name your color!" he exclaimed with an air of devotion.
"I think it will be a real pleasure to him, Mamma," said Diana, smiling, "to turn from an immersion in sublunary matters like socks and neckties to a poetic purchase."
"Why should Mr. Barrison be about to bathe in socks and neckties?"
"He is kind enough to take the matter off my hands, Mrs. Wilbur, and make our young friend fit," said the lawyer.
The lady lifted her lorgnette and surveyed the silent boy.