"Another what?" questioned Clifford, who did not catch his companion's meaning.
"Another deed to be proud of," was the hearty, but almost involuntary response.
It was now Clifford's turn to look astonished—and he was beyond measure—for it was the first time he had ever heard a word of genuine commendation from the man's lips.
"Thank you, sir," he earnestly returned.
"Humph!" grunted the squire, as if half-ashamed of having betrayed so much weakness; "so you don't appear to be very much elated over the fact that you are the sole heir to William Faxon Temple's millions."
"No, sir; I do not want a dollar of his money," was the spirited reply, "and I should never—under any circumstances—attempt to prove myself his heir, or entitled to bear his name. My mother named me Clifford Faxon, and while I live I will bear no other."
"Well, I must say, you are mighty indifferent about your rights; and you do not seem to grasp the fact either, that, as my nephew, there is a possibility that you may inherit something handsome from me one of these days," and the man regarded him curiously as he said this.
Clifford flushed again.
"I had not thought of such a thing, I assure you," he said coldly. "Of course I cannot help the fact that a certain relationship exists between us; but I do not want your property, Squire Talford—I don't want any man's money."
"Oh, you don't! It strikes me that you are mighty independent, and perhaps may live to regret assuming such airs," snapped his companion, in evident irritation. Then he added maliciously: "But then, I forgot for the moment that you are expecting to marry a fortune—I am told that Miss Heatherford is a rich girl."