“Father spoke about his keeping me until I was twenty-one, and then my signature would amount to something,” said Bob, when the conversation lagged a little. “What would Henderson do? I guess I’d know more then than I do now.”
“That would make no difference,” said Frank. “He could keep you on bread and water until you would be glad to sign anything.”
“Would he shut me up?” exclaimed Bob, looking at me.
“He might put you into a lunatic asylum,” I answered.
“Great Scott! And all the time I would be as sane as he is!”
“That would make no difference, either,” said Frank. “There are plenty of men who run an insane asylum who would be glad to take a patient on such terms as he could offer. Ten or fifteen thousand dollars at the end of six years would make him open his eyes. Before you had been with him a week you would see all sorts of things.”
“Well, this beats me!” gasped Bob. “And I just as sane as anybody! Such things aint right.”
“I know they are not right,” said Lem. “There are plenty of things that happen in this world that you know nothing about, and money will do a heap of things.”
“But Henderson has no ten thousand dollars to give such a man.”
“No, but he would soon get it. I tell you your father has done right in watching you.”