“Well, I swan, that's lucky. 'Twas in a trunk, eh? Whose trunk?”
“One of Uncle Shad's, I guess.”
“Humph! I presume likely. Well, what made you ask about—about the one you did ask about?”
“I knew who the others were. I knew my father and Uncle Zoeth and Uncle Shad. But I didn't know who the Farmer one was. It says 'Firm of Hall and Company,' and all those names are signed. So I thought maybe Mr. Farmer was—”
“Never you mind who he was. He was a darned blackguard and his name ain't mentioned in this house. That's all I can tell you and you mustn't ask any more questions. Why, if your Uncle Zoeth—yes, or your Uncle Shad either—was to hear you askin' about him—they'd—I don't know what they'd do. I'm goin' to tear this thing up.”
He would have torn the photograph across, but the girl seized his hands.
“Oh, no, you mustn't,” she cried. “Please don't. It isn't mine. It belongs to Uncle Shad. You mustn't tear it—give it to me.”
Isaiah hesitated. “Give it to you?” he repeated. “What'll you do with it?”
“I'll put it right back where I found it. Truly, I will. I will, honest, Mr. Chase.”
Isaiah reflected. Then, and with considerable reluctance, he handed her the photograph.