“My money? Why should I lose money?” snapped the miser, turning around upon him. “I didn’t alter the checks. You ought to keep your eyes open. If swindlers choose to tamper with my paper, what’s it to do with me? It’s your risk, your business, your loss, not mine.”
“No, sir, surely not. A member of your own family—”
“A member of my own family be hanged, sir. He’s no child of mine. He’s the son of that canting sky-pilot, that parson of the slums.”
“But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you would not desire a scandal, a public exposure.”
“A scandal! What’s a scandal to me? Am I to pay seven thousand dollars for the privilege of being robbed, sir? No, sir. I entrusted you with the care of my money. You ought to take proper precautions, and safeguard me against swindlers and forgers.”
“But he is your heir.”
“Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir.”
“But some day—”
“Some day! What has some day got to do with 98 you, eh, sir? Are you in my confidence, sir? Have I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to my grandson?”
“No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if I presumed—”