It was Job Dowling who spoke. The uncle and guardian of the three Russell boys was sitting by the side window of his home in Buffalo. In his lap lay a small, flat package, which had been wrapped in heavy brown paper and well sealed. In his hand was an open letter which he had just finished reading.
"It was a dreadful price to pay thet detective," he resumed. "But I couldn't git them hairlooms back no other way, and I'm afraid the boys would raise the roof ef I didn't git 'em back. It's a comfort to know thet thief was caught and is going to be tried for even a wuss crime than stealin' them rings an' the watch an' the Australian diamond. I hope they give him about twenty years in prison." He paused to put the package away in his dilapidated secretary. "So Ben is coming home this week? I wonder what he'll have to say when he faces me? Somehow, I don't know wot I'm going to say myself." And he dropped into his chair again.
Job Dowling was a different man from what he had been. The determined stand taken by Larry, Walter, and Ben had opened his eyes to the knowledge that he had no mere children to deal with, but boys who were almost men, and who were fully capable of taking care of themselves. His visit to New York, when he was robbed of the Russell heirlooms, had caused him considerable loss of self-confidence, and the trip to Boston after the thief had awakened him to the fact that, after all, he was of but little importance in this world. His efforts to help the police recover the heirlooms had been laughed at, and even the detective had shown him plainly that he was hindering more than he was helping. Finally he had returned home in disgust, and the detective had finished the work on the case alone, recovered everything, and sent Deck Mumpers to jail to stand trial on half a dozen charges. The detective's bill had been over two hundred dollars, a sum the paying of which had nearly given Job Dowling a fit; but now the whole thing was settled and he was awaiting Ben's return, for the gallant young volunteer had been shot in the left arm on the day before Santiago surrendered, and was coming home on sick leave.
Ding! ding! it was a double ring at the front-door bell, and before Mrs. Graham, the new housekeeper, and a great improvement on the tartar-like Mrs. Rafferty, could get to the door, Job Dowling was there himself.
"Ben an' Walter!" he exclaimed, as he found himself confronted by two nephews instead of one, as expected. "Well—er, how is this?"
"How do you do, Uncle Job!" exclaimed Ben, extending his hand.
"Aren't you glad to see me too, Uncle Job?" put in Walter.
"Why—er—of course, of course!" came with a stammer; and Job Dowling held out both of his bony hands. "Come right in. This is Mrs. Graham, my new workwoman." And the lady of the house, dressed in a neat wrapper and with a clean kitchen apron on, came forward and bowed. "Knows a sight more than Mrs. Rafferty did," went on the uncle, in a whisper.
"I didn't know Walter was coming on till day before yesterday," continued Ben. "We met quite by accident in New York, and we made up to come on together and surprise you."
"I see—I see." Job Dowling was still very nervous, and he could hardly tell why. At one instant he thought he ought to quarrel with them, the next that it would be quite proper to embrace them and tell them they were forgiven and could henceforth do as they saw proper. But he chose a middle course and did neither. "Sit down and make yourselves to hum, and, Mrs. Graham, you had best get a few extry chops—three won't be enough. Tell Boggs to send me the best on the stand."