"Two of you can fix up Uncle Jack's bed and sleep there; the other can bunk down on the couch in the room where those four rascals were playing cards. I'll sleep down-stairs on the parlor davenport. Yes," Sercomb added, "it will be just as well to sleep over all this queer business, and do our talking in the morning. Good night, all of you."
Leaving the lamp for the boys, Sercomb went stumbling down-stairs.
"What do you think of Ralph Sercomb, Matt?" whispered Ferral, when Sercomb had left the stairs and could be heard moving around the parlor.
"I don't like his looks," answered Matt frankly, "nor the way he acts."
"Me, neider," put in Carl. "He vas a shly vone, und I bed you he talks crooked mit himseluf."
"That's the way I always sized him up," admitted Ferral, "and strikes me lucky if I think he's improved any since I saw him last. But he's got the will, and poor old Uncle Jack——"
Ferral's eyes wandered to the picture on the wall, and he shook his head sadly.
"I'd have a look at that will," said Matt, "and I'd get a lawyer to look at it."
"These lawyer-sharps, of course, will have their watch on deck, but I hate to quibble over the old chap's property when it's Uncle Jack himself I wanted to find. Anyhow, I got my whack, all right, to be cut off without a shilling; at the same time, Ralph got more than was his due. But I'm no kicker."
"If Sercomb drives a racing-car," went on Matt, "he must have skill and nerve."