"I should say so. I say, father, I thought he was rich. You always said so."
"And I still think so."
"Then why don't he dress better?"
"He is rather eccentric, Percy; and these California miners don't care much for dress as a rule. I shouldn't wonder if he were worth half a million. You'd better treat him with attention, for we are his natural heirs, and there's no telling what may happen."
"Enough said, father. I don't care how he dresses if he's got the cash."
"I must go and speak to your mother, or she will treat him coldly. You know how particular she is."
Squire Marlowe managed to drop a hint to his wife, who was as worldly wise as himself, and saw the advantage of being attentive to a wealthy relative.
By this time Uncle Jacob had reached the door.
Squire Marlowe himself answered the bell, as a mark of special attention, and gazed with curiosity at the old man.
Jacob Marlowe, though coarsely clad, was scrupulously neat and clean, and there was a pleasant smile on his bronzed face as he recognized his nephew.