“Jim—Jim, my son!” he burst out. Then, suddenly, he sank into a chair and, putting his head in his hands, sobbed aloud.
“My God, but I’m proud of you—speak to me, Jim. You’ve broken me up.” He was ashamed of his tears, but he could not wipe them away.
“Father, dear old man!” said Jim, and put his hands on the broad shoulders.
Sally knelt down beside him, took both the great hands from the tear-stained face, and laid them against her cheek. But presently she put Nancy on his knees.
“I don’t like you to cry,” the child said softly; “but to-day I cried too, ‘cause my Indian man is dead.”
The old man could not speak, but he put his cheek down to hers. After a minute, “Oh, but she’s worth ten times that!” he said as Sally came close to him with the bundle he had thrust into her hands.
“What is it?” said Jim.
“It’s five million dollars—for Nancy,” she said. “Five-million—what?”
“The stake, Jim,” said Sally. “If you did not drink for four years—never touched a drop—we were to have five million dollars.”
“You never told him, then—you never told him that?” asked the old man.