"Good luck to you," said Bates, as he turned and went into the house.
Squire Bates had been for three years a resident of Waterford. He appeared to have plenty of money, though it was a mystery where it came from. He professed to be a lawyer, and had an office, but beyond writing a will or a lease, or some such matter, had no practice to speak of. This, however, did not seem to trouble him. It was a popular belief that the care of his property gave him considerable to do. He had no investments in Waterford except the house he lived in, and a mortgage on the house and small landed property of Adin Dunham. The assessors got very little satisfaction out of him when they questioned him about his taxable property.
"I am taxed elsewhere," he said briefly.
"But you have some personal property?"
"Oh well, you may put me down for a thousand dollars."
"It is generally supposed that you have a much larger personal property than that."
"I have, gentleman," answered Bates frankly, "but you know that government bonds are not taxable."
That explained it. The board of assessors jumped to the conclusion that Squire Bates had a large sum in government bonds, and did not pursue their inquiries further.
There was one thing that puzzled Waterford people about the lawyer. He often absented himself in a mysterious way, sometimes for weeks at a time. He never told where he went, nor did his wife and son when questioned appear to know. At any rate they never gave any information. He would reappear, as suddenly as he had disappeared, and always explain briefly that he had been away on business. What the nature of the business was he did not state, a sensible thing probably, but his reticence excited considerable remark among his fellow-townsmen, who did not approve of it.
When Squire Bates re-entered the house he went up to his room—his library was on the second floor—and locked the door. He sat down in a rocking-chair, and seemed plunged in thought.