"The inheritance."
"I told you the boy was not mentioned in the will."
"I know that, but what's the law for if it can't get justice done?" came the impatient question, and Gayne's chin shot out belligerently.
"It can and will get justice done," said Luther Wrenn slowly, "but it will take time."
"Oh, of course, I know it will, but you can advance money on a sure thing, and I'll make it worth your while as soon as the cash is in my hands."
"In yours?" The lawyer tapped his desk with a paper-cutter.
"Yes. I told you the boy's delicate. He needs care."
"I'm sure he does. It may take a year to straighten out the matter of the will."
"It don't need to," said Gayne angrily. "I've had the expense of Bert for five years and I ought to be reimbursed and provided with enough money to care for him right, until he gets all that's coming to him."
Luther Wrenn looked for a silent minute at the dark, impatient face and thick, powerful shoulders and hands, and recalled the boy's panic.