“I don’t think it’s in Crumville or we should have seen him,” said Dave.
“I never want to meet that boy again,” pouted Jessie. “I’ll never get over how meanly he acted toward us.”
“It’s not so much Nat’s fault as it is his bringing up,” remarked Ben. “His father never treated him half decently. But I hope Nat makes a man of himself in spite of the way he used to treat us,” went on the youth generously.
“By the way, Ben, didn’t you say your father had gone away?” queried Dave, a few minutes later.
“Yes, he has gone to Chicago on very important business. It seems an old friend of his––a Mr. Enos, who was once his partner in an art store––died, and now the lawyers want to see my father about settling up the Enos estate.”
“An art store?” queried Dave. “I never knew that your father had been in any such business.”
“It was years ago––before my folks came to Crumville. You see, my father and this Mr. Enos had been chums from early boyhood. My father says that Mr. Enos was a very peculiar sort of man, who was all wrapped up in pictures and painting. He got my father to advance a thousand dollars he had saved up, and on that money the two opened an art store. But they couldn’t make a go of it, and so they gave it up, and while Mr. Enos went West my father came here.”
“Maybe the dead man left your father some money,” suggested Laura.