“Who cares for the newspapers? They’re all run by demagogues hunting sensations. What makes me feel the worst about all this is that Stock Exchange seat of father’s. If I were only of age, so that I could go down there on the floor, I tell you it wouldn’t be long before you and I were back where we belong, Sis. But, no, I’m a kid, so Graves thinks, in charge of a guardian—a guardian, by gad!”
He snorted, in manly indignation. Caroline, her pretty face troubled, rose and walked slowly across the room. It was a large room, in spite of the fact that it was one of a suite in an apartment hotel, and furnished richly. A. Rodgers Warren spent his money with taste, and spent it freely while he lived. The furniture, the paintings, and bric-a-brac were of the very best, chosen with care, here and abroad.
“Oh, dear!” sighed the girl. “I do hope Mr. Graves will be well enough to call to-day. He expected to. Except for the telephone message telling us that that man at Denboro—”
“Our dear Uncle Elisha,” put in Stephen, with sarcasm. “Uncle ‘’Lish!’ Heavens! what a name!”
“Hush! He can’t help his name. And father’s was worse yet—Abijah! Think of it!”
“I don’t want to think of it. Neither did the governor; that’s why he dropped it, I suppose. Just what did Graves say? Give me his exact words.”
“His partner, Mr. Kuhn, telephoned. He said that Mr. Graves had a bad cold, having been wet through in a dreadful storm down there in the country. The doctor forbade his leaving the house for a day or two, but he would call on Tuesday—to-day—if he was sufficiently recovered. And Mr. Kuhn said that everything was satisfactory. This Captain Warren—a ship captain, I suppose he is—would, in all probability, refuse to accept the guardianship and the rest of it—”
“Refuse? I should think so. I’m just as certain father was insane when he made that will as I am that I’m alive. If I thought he wasn’t, I’d never forgive him.”
“Hush, Steve. You promised me you wouldn’t speak in that way.”
“Well, all right, I won’t. But, Caro, he must have been insane. If he wasn’t, do you suppose he would have put us and the estate in the care of a Down-East jay? It’s inconceivable! It’s ridiculous! Think of it. Suppose this uncle of ours had accepted. Suppose he had come to town here and any of our friends had met him. ‘This is our guardian, Captain Warren, of Punkin Centre.’ ‘Please to meet ye,’ says Uncle ’Lish. ‘How’s taters?’ Horrors! Say, Caro, you haven’t told anyone, Malcolm or his mother, or anyone, have you?”