“Hilary was a colored man that Uncle had had a long time. It seemed to me that if Uncle had had much money, Hilary would have known about it; and he didn’t.”
“Where is he now? Hilary, I mean,” added Laurie, somewhat unnecessarily.
“I don’t know. He went away a little while after Uncle Peter died. He said he was going to New York, I think.”
“You don’t suppose he took the money with him, do you? I mean—”
“Oh no!” Polly seemed quite horrified. “Hilary was just as honest as honest! Why, Uncle Peter died owing him almost forty dollars and Hilary never got a cent of it! The lawyers were too mean for anything!”
“There’s a fellow named Starling living there now,” Laurie said. “His father’s rented the house for three years. Bob says that he’s going to find the money and give it to your mother.”
Polly laughed. “Oh, I wish that he would! But I guess if the lawyers couldn’t find it he never will. Lawyers, they say, can find money when nobody else can! Is he nice?”
“Bob? Yes, he’s a dandy chap. You ought to know him, Polly; he’s your next-door neighbor.”
“Back-door neighbor, you mean,” interpolated Ned.
“I think I saw him in the garden one day,” said Polly. “His father is an engineer, Mae Ferrand says, and he’s building a big bridge for the railway. Or maybe it’s a tunnel. I forget.”