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?"