"Suppose I don't go back," ventured Britton, dreamingly.
"If you don't, it all goes to the auctioneer's block. Your uncle put a condition and a date in his will. You either take possession within two months or they sell the estate for charity."
Rex sprang up a second time, spurred by Ainsworth's announcement.
"Sell Britton Hall!" he cried. "By my soul, they had better not think of it. I would come from the grave to prevent that!"
"Thank the Lord," breathed Ainsworth, in immense relief. "I haven't labored in vain!"
He arose also and seized Britton's hand. "Swear on this handshake!" he ordered, and Rex took the vow.
"Now that you have promised, I can tell you something else," the lawyer observed. "I am glad that I did not have to use it as a means of influencing you. Boy, listen! They want you to represent New Shoreham."
Ainsworth made the declaration with a tinge of paternal pride.
"They want me!" Britton exclaimed. "I couldn't do it. I–why–"
"Never mind," interrupted his friend, "I know your objections by heart, the depreciation of your abilities and all the rest of it. Let that pass, and give ear to common sense! The community of New Shoreham has gone from bad to worse since Oliver Britton chucked its representation for the diplomatic service. The name of Britton was a power there with the lower classes and the aristocracy alike, but during the last few years, its want has been felt. The place has been torn by political strife, rival factions, and unscrupulous candidates.