"Poor Father!" murmured Rupert, and then he thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and sat staring at the floor, frowning his blackest, until, a sudden thought striking him, he sat up straight, and asked abruptly: "What made you dig all that up to-day, after keeping it to yourself so long?"
"Because I met the man whose arm Father cut off," replied Nealie quietly.
"You did? Where?" demanded Rupert savagely, and looking as if he would like to go and have it out with the man there and then.
"A one-armed man passed us in the Botanical Gardens, and Mr. Wallis told me that a doctor had cut off his arm by mistake, and that the man's name was Reginald Baxter; then I knew that it must be the man on whose account Father had to suffer so badly."
"Did he—did he look very poor?" asked Rupert in a hesitating manner; for if the man had to lose his inheritance as a penalty for losing his arm, it did seem as if the poor fellow should be pitied.
"He looked as well off as other people, that is to say, he was dressed in an ordinary way; but Mr. Wallis told me that he was one of the richest men in the city—a king of finance, he said he was," replied Nealie.
Rupert gave a long whistle, and then rose to his feet, yawning widely. "So Father didn't balk the business so badly after all!" he said, and then went to bed.