“Yes. Fortune and I are at odds. Yet I ought to have some money.”
“How’s that?”
“When my mother died uncle Silas acted as executor of her estate. It was always supposed that she had some money—probably from two to three thousand dollars—but when uncle Silas rendered in his account it had dwindled to one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Of course that didn’t last me long.”
“Do you think that he acted wrongfully?” asked Chester, startled.
“Do I think so? I have no doubt of it. You know money is his god.”
“Yet to cheat his own nephew would be so base.”
“Is there anything too base for such a man to do to get money?”
The young man spoke bitterly.
By this time they had reached Chester’s home. His mother was still up. She looked up in surprise at her son’s companion.
“Mother,” said Chester, “this is Mr. Bruce. Do you think we can give him a bed?”