“Why not, Ken?”—Max was holding out his hand.
Kenneth stood a moment looking in his eyes, and then grasped the extended hand firmly.
“Yes,” he cried; “why not? It’s the same old Max after all.”
“Then you’ll act as a brother to me if I ever ask you to help me in some critical point of my life?”
“Indeed I will.”
“Then help me now, Ken, as a brother should, to make a great restoration, and me a happier man.”
“I—I don’t understand,” cried Kenneth wonderingly. “What do you mean?”
“Your father’s while he lives, Ken; yours after as his heir.”
“Are you mad, Max?”
“Yes, with delight, old fellow!” he cried, as he forced the folio and its contents into his old friend’s hands.