“Guess that was right time you heerd abaout it. His guardeen speckerlated and lost everything. Sence then, though, the boy run acrost his father. You’ve heerd about him—gambled a good deal. He went out West somewhere an’ found some rich mines. Well, he died, an’ them mines went to the boy. They do say he’s got more money’n he knows what to do with.”
“Well, what’s he goin’ to do with the old place?”
“Fix it up fer his home, I s’pose. He’s got a crew of city workmen tinkerin’ away there now an’ a nigger—some one old Asher hed—kinder lookin’ after the place.”
“Well, well, well!” mumbled one of the old gossips. “Will wonders never cease! Beats all creation how fortenit some folks be. Now looker this boy. Lost every dollar he hed in the world, hed to leave college an’ go ter work, an’ nobody ever s’posed we’d ever hear from him ag’in. Now here he turns up rich as mud an’ is comin’ back here to make a spread. I’ve spent sixty-seven years right here in Bloomfield, an’ I ain’t never hed no chance in the world. It’s all luck—all luck.”
“Go on, Bill Kimball!” exclaimed old Jonas. “You’ve allus bin too lazy to draw your breath. You’ve spent your life a-loafin’, an’ you complain you ain’t never hed no chance. Now the town’s helpin’ ye, when you might be comfertable well off an’ able ter take keer of yerself.”
“Ain’t never had no chance,” persisted Kimball doggedly. “Don’t you talk to me, Jonas Worthen! You was born to have luck.”
“I started out in the world jest as poor as you did.”
“Well, I’m glad one of the Merriwells is comin’ back to the old place,” said Lem Briggs, the storekeeper. “Is he merrid? I s’pose he is, or else he wouldn’t be havin’ the place fixed up.”
Later in the day Bill Kimball was walking past a fine, old house amid some elms, about half a mile from the village. He stopped to stare at the house, where men were at work, when an ebony-faced young negro came from the stable and strolled out toward the road.
“How de do?” saluted Kimball. “I kinder guess I know you. Ain’t you Toots?”