“I’ll write to her to-night,” said Chot, which called forth a wink from Fleet. Chot understood the wink but paid no attention to it, and Fleet subsided.
“Be careful how you word the letter,” said Mr. Duncan. “It is a delicate subject for her, and there is no use to offend her or prejudice her against her father.”
“Leave that to me,” said Chot. “I had a perfect understanding with her at the time the papers were signed. She loves her father, I think, but knows he does not always deal squarely.”
“An awful position for a girl to be in,” said Mr. Kenby, with a grave shake of the head. “It’s lucky that Lucy has an aunt to stay with.”
“It is,” said Chot. “Mrs. Dashworth does not like Mr. Pendleton, and will always look after Lucy’s welfare.”
“Well, if she does not, there are others who will,” said Chot’s father, in a grim tone that sent a thrill through each of the boys.
“I’ll tell you, fellows,” said Chot, when Mr. Duncan and Mr. Kenby had gone down into the library for a smoke before retiring, “this mine is going to cause us trouble. I can feel it in die air. That is, unless we relinquish all claim to it, and that I’m sure none of us are inclined to do.”
“No; not in the face of facts made clear to-night,” said Tom. “Something has always told me that Luther Pendleton was a rascal of the first water. I cannot say what has made me believe this—instinct, perhaps—but ever since that day at the brass works, after my father died, when he told me of the obligation we would have to pay, I have mistrusted him.”
“Pendleton may know more of your father’s accounts than he cares to admit,” said Fleet.
“I have often thought that, and am waiting such a time as I can confront him with something substantial in the way of proof to that effect,” said Tom.