"I dare say it does, Frank."
"But then, you see, to do this, I ought to know the exact sum that is coming to me. Unless I were able to state that, I should not be listened to. That's why, sir, I was in hopes that you could tell me what it was."
"And so I would tell you if I knew it, Frank. I do not think Francis mentioned to me that you would come in for anything. I feel sure, if he had done so, I should remember it."
"That's awkward," mused Frank, thoughtfully balancing the paper-knife he had caught up from the table. "I wonder he did not tell you, Uncle Hugh."
"To say the truth, so do I," replied Dr. Raynor. "It would have been good news: and he knows that I am equally interested with himself in the welfare of Henry's orphan son. Are you sure, Frank, that you are making no mistake in this?"
"I don't think I am. I was staying at Spring Lawn when the major came home from Aunt Atkinson's after her husband's death, and he brought her will with him. He was telling us all about it—that Eagles' Nest was to be his, and that there were several legacies to different people, and he turned to me and said, 'You come in for a good slice, Frank.' I recollect it all, sir, as though it had taken place yesterday."
"Did he mention how much the 'slice' was?"
"No, he did not. And I did not like to ask him."
There was a pause. Dr. Raynor began putting the papers straight on the table, his usual custom before retiring for the night. Frank had apparently fallen into a reverie.
"Uncle Hugh," he cried, briskly, lifting his head, his face glowing with some idea, his frank blue eyes bright with it, "if you can spare me for a couple of days, I will go to Spring Lawn and ask Uncle Francis. I should like to be at some certainty in the matter."