Tom did not answer that question. It was too big. What he did say was:
“Mr. Doolittle, I have called on you in reference to a deed of trust my father drew shortly before his death, naming you and Captain Hawkesbury as trustees of a certain piece of land—land where the railroad bridge now stands. That land has been sold, and I think the money for it should come to my mother and to me. I have here—”
That was as far as Tom got just then. Mr. Doolittle fairly leaped from his chair, his face blazing with wrath.
“You—you—” he stammered out. Words failed him for a moment.
“Get out of my office!” he shouted.
“Not until you have answered my question,” said Tom, coolly.
“How dare you ask me any questions?”
“How dare I? Why, I think I have a very good right, since you were in charge of some of my father’s property.”
“Your father’s property! He left none! All he did own was swallowed up in debts. He owes me money now, if the truth were known.”
“I don’t believe that,” Tom said, quietly.