"About two years."
"What did he die of?"
"I don't know, sir, exactly. He died away from home—in California."
There was a strange look, difficult to read, on the gentleman's face.
"That is a long way off," he said. "I have always thought I should like to visit California. When my business will permit I will take a trip out that way."
Here was another difference between Mr. Browning and the man of whom Luke's father had written. The stranger had never been in California.
Browning handed Luke a silver quarter in payment for the papers.
"Never mind about the change," he said, with a wave of his hand.
"Thank you, sir. You are very kind."
"This must be the son of my old California friend," Browning said to himself. "Can he have heard of the money intrusted to me? I don't think it possible, for I left Walton on the verge of death. That money has made my fortune. I invested it in land which has more than quadrupled in value. Old women say that honesty pays," he added, with a sneer; "but it is nonsense. In this case dishonesty has paid me richly. If the boy has heard anything, it is lucky that I changed my name to Browning out of deference to my wife's aunt, in return for a beggarly three thousand dollars. I have made it up to ten thousand dollars by judicious investment. My young newsboy acquaintance will find it hard to identify me with the Thomas Butler who took charge of his father's money."