"Are you sure there is to be a marriage?" demanded Job, keenly. "Tell me, now, is the rich widow a humbug to swindle me out of my money? Aha! Craven, I have you."
"No, you haven't, Mr. Green," said Craven, earnestly. "It's a real thing; it's a Mrs. Hunter of Shelby; her husband died two years ago."
"How much money has she got?"
"Sixty thousand dollars."
"What, in her own right?"
"Why, there's a son—a boy of fifteen," said Mr. Craven, reluctantly.
"Aha! Well how much has he got of this money?"
"I'll tell you the plain truth, Mr. Green. He is to have two-thirds when he comes of age. His mother has the balance, and enjoys the income of the whole, of course providing for him till that time."
"That's good," said Job, thoughtfully.