“Well, no college for me, if you please!” declined Arthur. “I’ve done my last day’s work at books or anything else. Give me the money, and I will spend it in a way that will bring me some satisfaction. I will have a top-buggy and a span of steppers so fine that Coal Oil Tom’s will bear no comparison to them. How soon can we get ready to start?”
“By to-morrow night,” replied Uncle Bob, promptly. “All I’ve got to do is to put our little property here into the hands of an agent, with orders to do the best he can with it, and then we will pack our trunks and be off. Of course I can’t stay to attend to the sale myself.”
“Of course not,” said Arthur, looking about the poorly-furnished room with an expression of contempt in his face. “If you can’t sell the place, give it away. You don’t need it any longer, and it isn’t worth much anyway.”
If Uncle Bob had received an offer for his house and lot an hour before, he would have demanded more, and held out for the last half-dollar that he could have induced the purchaser to pay. But he felt differently now. He was as highly elated as Arthur was over his unexpected fortune, although he did not show it so plainly, and the money his property would probably bring him, if it were thrown upon the market, seemed a mere bagatelle in his eyes.
“By-the-way,” said Arthur suddenly, “if anything should happen to Bob, who would inherit this property?”
“Being next of kin, it ought to come to me,” replied his father—“provided there are no legal obstacles in the way,” he added, as Arthur began dancing a jig in the middle of the floor. “My brother may have provided for that; but if he did not, or if Bob, after becoming of age and taking possession of the property, should die without making a will, my right to inherit would be clear and indisputable.”
“I declare, it almost takes my breath away to think of it!” said Arthur, whose delight and excitement would not allow him to keep still for a moment. “I don’t feel as I did when I came into this house a little while ago, I tell you. I guess I’ll go out and get a cigar.”
“Supper will soon be ready,” said his father.
“I don’t want any supper, and I shouldn’t think you would either. How you can sit there and take it so coolly, passes my comprehension. If I didn’t stir about I should go all to pieces.”
Arthur went into his room long enough to draw on a pair of kid gloves, which never saw the light except upon extra occasions, and to put under his arm the slender little cane he was accustomed to carry on his Sunday promenades, and then he went out to get his cigar.