The voice broke; it had really become a feverish babble of excitement now–pain’s wild excitement.
“Well! What was I saying–yes! I didn’t ring the bell because I hadn’t made up my mind whether I wanted to claim any share of my brother’s fortune, or not; you see he hadn’t been very fair to me in youth–taking away my sweetheart. None of my family had–for–that–matter! I didn’t know whether I wanted to meet them again. Although I liked the look of my little niece; I had seen her, at a distance, with her mother. And then, we didn’t need the money, my boy and I! Had enough of our own; Treffrey Graham may be a terror, but he isn’t a failure–financially!”
No–not by a long shot! said the flame of the pigeon-blood ruby upon the pale little finger, now curling significantly in air,–the gem whose fire in this wild spot seemed as erratic as his own, seeing that none but a zany would have worn it here.
“So–so I told old Cartwright this morning that I stepped out of that strung-out will,” a smile curled the pallid lips now; “that I authorized him to make preparations, at once, for the turning over of the remainder of my brother’s wealth, in his name and mine, to the University of our native city, to be used for the furtherance of Professor Lorry’s won-der-ful invention for r-reaching in-de-finite heights.”
“My father!... Oh! my fa-ther!” It was a wild little cry to which the Man Killer rang now, as the head of Pemrose Lorry went down upon her knees.
“Yes, I’m glad his way is clear–though, I suppose, only a man ‘whose head grew under his arm’ would have managed the thing as I have done.” The sufferer winked through the veil of pain. “Now! my son is different. He’s a dare-devil too–but he knows where to stop. You couldn’t have bribed him to steal that record–though somebody played a trick on him the other night–robbed him of his oars and a dance–just when he had ‘taken the bit between his teeth’, too; said he was tired of this camouflage business, and he was going–going whether I liked it, or not!”
“Ah-h!” That was the moment when Pem’s shoulders trembled like the needles upon the little green cedar sapling that grew by the rill: all because the Wise Woman in her was shaking the Elf, bidding her go to sleep for ever–which the Elf, very properly, refused to do, for, after all, undiluted wisdom would be a colorless cloak for any young back.
“Well! he–he wouldn’t speak to us when we just wanted to thank him for saving us in that terrible train-accident,” put in Una defensively.
“Ha! That was my fault, little niece. I made him promise, on coming East, that he wouldn’t go near any of his relatives, risk being identified by them, until I had decided what to do about the legacy–and whether I was going to make myself known to them, or not. Now-ow, I hope you’ll be friends. He’s your own cousin–Treff junior.”
And so Jack at a Pinch at last came into his own in the shape of a name!