“I suppose,” mused Pendleton, Jr., “I suppose 8 it was that freshman scrape that worried him.”
“I was not informed of that,” replied Barton.
“It made good reading,” the young man confided. “But, honest, it was not so bad as the papers made it out. Dad was a good sport about it, anyhow. He cleared it up and let me go on.”
“If you will allow me to advance an opinion,––a strictly personal opinion,––it is that Mr. Pendleton devised the entire will with nothing else but your welfare in mind. He had a good deal of pride, and desired above all things to have you retain the family home. If I remember correctly, he said you were the last lineal descendant.”
Don nodded pleasantly.
“The last. Kind of looks as if he wanted me to remain the last.”
“On the contrary,” ventured Barton, “I think he hoped you might marry and––”
“Marry?” broke in Don. “Did you say marry?”
“I even understood, from a conversation with your father just before his death, that 9 you––er––were even then engaged. Am I mistaken?”
“No; that’s true enough. But say––look here.”