“We’ve got to move slow, wife,” he said, cautiously. “We don’t want to stir up the old man.”
“Father ought to be ashamed to turn against his own grandson,” said Mrs. Brackett, indignantly.
“If we come to that, Tommy isn’t exactly Mr. Dodge’s grandson.”
“Well, it’s the same thing,” persisted his wife. “He seems to think more of this new boy than of poor Tommy.”
“It won’t do to make a fuss about it, Lucindy. We must be patient, and humor the old man. He’s seventy-five years old, and can’t live much longer.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for the last five years,” grumbled Mrs. Brackett. “I don’t see, for my part, but he’s likely to live till you and I are in our graves.”
“Not as bad as that, Lucindy. I’m getting a little anxious to have him make a will. I don’t want him to die till he’s left the property to us, safe and sure.”
“It would go to us anyway, wouldn’t it, Jeremiah?”
“It ought to, but there’s those Eastern relations. They might claim it.”
“That would be shameful!” said Mrs. Brackett, warmly.