“In New York Bay?”
“Yes. You were out in a boat with two other young fellows—that is, a young man who was the perfect image of you was. The boat upset, and all three were spilled out. I saved the life of one, but the others were, as I thought, drowned. I am sorry that I was mistaken.”
“Does that mean you are sorry I was not drowned?”
“No; I am sorry to have harrowed up your mother’s feelings by a story which proves to be untrue.”
“I suppose Mr. Trimble brought you here,” said Edward, quietly. He had in former days stood in fear of his stepfather, but now, backed up by Chester, he felt a new sense of courage and independence.
“Of course I brought him here,” growled Trimble. “Fully believing in my friend Floyd’s story, for I know him to be a gentleman of truth, I thought your mother ought to know it.”
“I was about to make my will at Mr. Trimble’s suggestion, leaving him all my property,” said Mrs. Trimble, regarding her husband suspiciously.
“Of course it was better to leave it to me than to second cousins whom you don’t care anything about,” interposed Trimble, sourly. “Come, Floyd, our business is at an end. We will go over to the saloon.”
“Shan’t I get anything for my trouble?” asked Floyd, uneasily, a remark which led the lawyer to regard him sharply.
“Your valuable time will be paid for,” said Trimble, sarcastically.