"We used to call him Frankie, then. He didn't call himself Granthope at all. I expect he made that up."
"Is—that—so!" Masterson grinned joyously.
"Let's see—there was some money missing when the boy left, seems to me."
"Lord, yes, and a sight of money, too. Madam Grant was a grand miser. They say she had a fortune stowed away in the dirt on the floor. She run a real estate business, you know, and she done well by it. I expect that's where Frankie got his start. Strange I never seen him afore."
"You're positively sure it's the same one?"
"Didn't I stare hard enough at him? Why, just as soon as I come in the door I says to myself, 'I've seen you before, young man!' Then when you called him Frank, it all come back to me. I'll take my oath to it."
"Lord, I could kick myself!" said Masterson. "To think of all these years I've known him and ain't suspected who he was!"
"You won't give me away, then, will you, Doctor?" the old lady added tearfully.
"I'll see, I'll see." He returned to his medicine, thinking hard.
He proceeded with his treatment of Mrs. Riley, plying her all the while with questions relative to Francis Granthope and Madam Grant. Mrs. Riley knew little, but she embroidered upon what she had seen and heard till, at the end, she had fabricated a considerable history. Her fancy, under fear of the healer's threats, was given free rein; and Masterson listened so hungrily, that, had there been no other inducement, her pleasure in that alone would have made her garrulous. She went away feeling important.