“You have got away sooner than usual, Barton,” that lady said, when he entered.
“Yes,” he said. “No use stopping.”
“Is the boy worse?” she asked anxiously.
“He is, Rachel. He is dying, there is no doubt about that. He may live a year or two; it all depends; but he is breaking up. Of course, the great question with us is, will he hold on till he is one-and-twenty? He wants nearly two years of it yet.”
“One-and-twenty won't do, Barton,” his wife said decidedly. “What is the use of getting a bond for ten thousand pounds from a boy who is going to die before he comes into his property? Who is going to pay it? After what has happened it is not likely his grandfather would pay a penny. The bond would not be worth the paper it's written on. No; if the boy is really dying, the whole game is up.”
“Yes,” her husband said, stroking his chin, “but I don't quite despair of making a good thing out of it yet. You see, the old man has two nephews, who, of course, if the boy is not heard of, are his natural heirs. One of these nephews he has, I find, quarrelled with, but what about I cannot discover; and I have tried every way I know. However, it is a regular split, and he is altogether out of it; so the other expects to step into the old man's shoes. Now for the last three months, seeing that the boy is dying, I have had Benjamin at work, finding out about this other one. He is a hard-fisted, sharp young fellow, and he is said to be a 'cute hand at a bargain; and about as hard a chap to get over as you could want. A regular grinder. He has got some big works on down in the country, and his men hate him like poison. Benjamin says he don't know that he ever knew a young one so hated. Now I should think I might work him a bit. Just tell him the heir is alive, and that I can produce him. I don't know after all that it would not be as good as the old thing, and no fear of a blow up. What do you think, Rachel?”
“Well, it might do,” his wife answered. “Don't you let him find out where the boy is, Barton, or he would wait till he died, and then snap his fingers at you.”
“Thank you, Rachel; I am not quite a fool,” her husband said grimly. “In a matter like this, which I have waited and planned for, for twenty years, I am not likely to make a mistake.”
“And you have quite made up your mind, Barton, that it will be better to try with the next heir?”