“A sudden fever.”
“I wish I could have seen him before he died. But I returned only to find both son and grandson gone. I had only the sad satisfaction of seeing his grave.”
“Yes, he was buried in the family lot at Greenwood, five days before you reached home.”
“When I see men of my own age, surrounded by children and grandchildren, it makes me almost envious,” said Mr. Wharton, sadly. “I declare to you, John, since that boy has been with me, I have felt happier and more cheerful than for years.”
“That boy again!” muttered John to himself. “I begin to hate the young cub, but I mustn’t show it. My first work will be to separate him from my uncle. That will require consideration. I wonder whether the boy knows that he is not Fowler’s son? I must find out. If he does, and should happen to mention it in my uncle’s presence, it might awaken suspicions in his mind. I must interview the boy, and find out what I can. To enlist his confidence, I must assume a friendly manner.”
In furtherance of this determination, John Wade greeted our hero very cordially the next evening, when they met, a little to Frank’s surprise.
When the reading terminated, John Wade said, carelessly:
“I believe, uncle, I will go out for a walk. I think I shall be better for it. In what direction are you going, Frank?”
“Down Sixth Avenue, sir.”
“Very good; I will walk along with you.”