“So I have believed. The fact is, Henry, I have become so entangled in this cotton mill business with Squire Floyd, Dewey, and others, that I find myself in a maze of bewildering uncertainty. The Squire and Ralph are at loggerheads, and seem to me to be getting matters snarled up. There is no denying the fact that this summary footing of our accounts, as executors, has tended to cripple affairs. We were working up to the full extent of capital invested, and the absence of a hundred thousand dollars—or its representative security—has made financiering a thing of no easy consideration.”
“I am afraid, Judge Bigelow,” said Wallingford, as the old man paused, “that you are in the hands of one who, to gain his own ends, would sacrifice you without a moment's hesitation.”
“Who?”
“You will permit me to speak plainly, Judge.”
“Say on. The plain speech of a friend is better than the flatteries of an enemy.”
“I have no faith in Ralph Dewey.”
The two men looked steadily at each other for some moments.
“Over fifteen years' observation of the man has satisfied me that he possesses neither honor nor humanity. He is your nephew. But that does not signify. We must look at men as they are.”
“His movements have not been to my satisfaction for some time,” said the Judge; speaking as though conviction had to force itself upon his mind.
“You should canvass all he does with the closest care; and if your property lies in any degree at his mercy, change the relation as quickly as possible.”