“You don’t think I’m looking poorly, do you?” queried Mr. Brackett, nervously.
“Oh, no! And I hope I am not. Still, you may die before me.”
“That’s so, of course; but it ain’t hardly likely.”
“No; I hope you won’t. I hope you will live to be as old as I am.”
“I’ll tell you what, father,” said Brackett, cunningly, “I’ll make my will if you make yours.”
“I’ll think of it, Jeremiah,” said Mr. Dodge, politely.
“Confound the old man! I can’t get anything out of him,” said Brackett to himself. “I think he teases me on purpose. The idea of thinking he doesn’t need to make a will because I don’t! One thing’s pretty certain, though—he hasn’t made his will yet. If he should die without one, I will prevent them Eastern relations from hearing of it, if I can. I ought to have that property—and I mean to.”
Mr. Dodge smiled to himself when his son-in-law left him.
“Mr. Brackett thinks he is shrewd,” he said to himself, “but his shrewdness and cunning are of a very transparent character. What would he say if he knew that I have already made my will, and that his name is not mentioned in it? What would he say if he knew that my chief heir is at present in his employ, working for fifty cents a week? I suspect there would be a storm—in fact, a hurricane.
“Henry,” said the old man, to our hero, “has Mr. Brackett spoken to you about your little trouble with Tommy?”