"Kind o' in the way, ain't it? That's a good place for yours to stand. We'll pull Mr. Gayne's trunk out here where I can pack it. He wants me to send him all his things."
Bert's face looked as if sunlight suddenly struck it. It was as if now only he entirely credited the fact that there was nothing to apprehend in the way of a reckoning.
"You are going to send all Uncle Nick's things to him?"
"Yes, everything but you," replied Matt jocosely.
"But I—I don't belong to him any more," explained Bert eagerly. "He gave me to—to the lawyer."
"Good work," said Blake, and, lifting the lid of the old trunk, he fell to opening the dresser drawers.
"Matt Blake," said Miss Burridge, "will you tell me what has happened?"
"Ever hear of Herbert Loring, one o' Boston's rich men? Well, he died suddenly and this boy's his grandson, and the lawyer has persuaded Mr. Gayne to take his hands off." As an addendum to his explanation, Matt bestowed upon Miss Burridge a wink which seemed to say: "More anon."
"And Mr. Gayne isn't coming back?" asked Miss Burridge, sundry financial considerations occurring to her.
"I guess he'll pay up all right," said Blake, reading her thought. "You make out what he owes. I'll see to it. Come on, Herbert Loring, help me to get your uncle's duds together so I won't be packing any o' yours."