"I don't know exactly; somewhere between ten and twelve, I think."
"Well, his consent to the choice of a guardian is not necessary; but I think it would be better, under the circumstances, if he would go into court with us, and agree to your appointment. Do you think he will?"
Old Simon frowned savagely.
"Yes, he will," he exclaimed. "I'll make him do it. I've made him do harder things than that; it's a pity if I can't make him do what's for his own benefit now!" He struck the floor viciously with his cane.
"Easy," said the lawyer, soothingly, "easy; I fear the boy has been his own master too long to be bullied. We shall have to work him in a different way now. I think I can manage it, though. I'll have him come down here some day, after we get Mrs. Burnham's refusal to acknowledge him, and I'll explain matters to him, and show him why it's necessary that you should take hold of the case. I'll use logic with him, and I'll wager that he'll come around all right. You must treat boys as though they were men, Craft. They will listen to reason, and yield to persuasion, but they won't be bullied, not even into a fortune. By the way, I don't quite understand how it was, if Burnham was searching energetically for the boy, and you were searching with as much energy for the boy's father all those years, that you didn't meet each other sooner."
Craft looked up slyly from under his shaggy eyebrows.
"May I speak confidentially?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Well, then, I didn't wear myself out hunting for the boy's friends, for the first year or two. Time increases the value of some things, you know—lost children, particularly. I knew there was money back of the boy by the looks of his clothes. I kept matters pretty well covered up for a while; allowed that he was my grandson; made him call me 'Grandpa'; carried the scheme a little too far, and came near losing everything. Now, do you see?"
Sharpman nodded, and smiled knowingly. "You're a shrewd man, Craft," he said.