“You’ll show me the will?” asked Carnac with an edge to his tone.
“What do you mean?” Tarboe did not like the look in the other’s eyes.
“I mean, what you have you shall keep, and what John Grier leaves me by that will, I will not keep.”
“You will inherit, and you shall keep.”
“And turn you out!” remarked Carnac ironically. “I needn’t be turned out. I hoped you’d keep me as manager. Few could do it as well, and, as Member of Parliament, you haven’t time yourself. I’ll stay as manager at twenty thousand dollars a year, if you like.”
Carnac could not tell him the real reason for declining to inherit, but that did not matter. Yet there flashed into his heart a love, which he had never felt so far in his life, for John Grier. The old man had believed he would come out right in the end, and so had left him the fortune in so odd a way. How Carnac longed to tell Tarboe the whole truth about Barode Barouche, and yet dare not! After a short time of hesitation and doubt, Carnac said firmly:
“I’ll stand by the will, if you’ll be my partner and manager, Tarboe. If you’ll take half the business and manage the whole of it, I’ll sell the half for a dollar to you, and we can run together to the end.”
Tarboe’s face lighted; there was triumph in his eyes. It was all better than he had dared to hope, for he liked the business, and he loathed the way the world had looked at John Grier’s will.
“Halves, pardner, halves!” he said, assenting gladly, and held out his hand.
They clasped hands warmly.