"Better come to San Francisco. I saw a friend of yours down there the other day, a Mrs. Somers, who always inquires about you."
"And how is she getting along these days, Francis?"
"She appears to be well. Says hard work agrees with her."
"Glad to hear good news of her. She writes me occasionally. Remember me to her when you see her."
"Then you don't think you'll go below with me?" ("Going below" was local parlance for going to San Francisco.)
"No. I'd feel like a fish out of water in that big city. I'll be comfortable at the Sherwood's. I'll have to depend upon you to send me some money occasionally."
"Hintzen writes me that he has your will locked up in his safe. I suppose you have given him a list of your property?"
"He has written me asking for a list; but I'm not going to give him any." If the old man had not trusted Francis so implicitly he might have noticed an expression of relief light up that gentleman's dark eyes.
"So I handle your funds, and Hintzen holds your will," smiled Francis. "Do you think that is fair to either of us?"
"Oh, as for the will, I've kept a copy, which you may as well look at." And he fetched the document.