“Henry!” The Judge was using a professional gesture. “What do you suppose your time is worth, at its present market value? Don’t you think you can afford to risk a year of it against half a million dollars?”
“But when I’ve practically closed with Mix––”
“Sign any agreement?”
“No, he’s having one typed.”
The judge breathed in relief. “You’re lucky. You’d lose money if you took a third interest for a gift, and if you took all of it as a gift you’d lose three times as much. Because you’d have to assume your share of his liabilities. People think he’s got money, but he hasn’t; he’s broke. He must have picked you for a life preserver.”
Henry’s jaw dropped. “What makes you think so?”
“I don’t think so; I know so. Oh, he’s pretty shifty on his feet, and he’s got a good many 82 people hoodwinked––your uncle always gave him too much credit, incidentally––but his New York correspondents happened to be clients of mine when I was practising law, and they’ve both asked me about him and told me about him, inside of the last six weeks.”
Henry sat unblinking “Is that––a fact!”
“And if you wanted to sell out,” continued the Judge, with a trifle of asperity, “why on earth didn’t you go to Bob Standish? Why didn’t you go to an expert? And why didn’t you have an audit made of Mix’s company––why didn’t you get a little information––why didn’t you know what you were buying? Oh, it isn’t too late, if you haven’t signed anything, but––Henry, it looks to me as if you need a guardian!”
At the sight of his face, Anna went over to him, and perched on the arm of his chair. “That’s enough, Dad.... I’m his guardian; aren’t I, dear? And he’s just upset and dizzy and I don’t blame him a bit. We won’t say another word about it; we’ve told him what we think; and tonight he can have a long talk with 83 Bob. You’d want to do that, wouldn’t you, Henry? Of course you would. You wish you’d done it before. You’re feeling awfully ashamed of yourself for being so hasty. And snobbish. I know you.”