'He must decide about that. He can come with me, if he likes. He'll not go a begging, that's certain. He'll have thirty thousand to start with.'
'Thirty thousand!' exclaimed Frank. 'No, father, you can't do that; you need every dollar you've got.'
'Yes, I do, and more too. But the money is yours, not mine. You shall have it to-morrow.'
'Mine! Where did it come from?'
'From a relative of yours. But he's modest; he don't want to be known.' 'But I ought to know, I thought I had no relatives.'
'Well, you haven't—only this one, and he's rich as mud. He gave you the five thousand; but this is a last instalment—you won't get another red cent.'
'I don't feel exactly like taking money in that way.'
'Pshaw, my boy! I tell you it's yours—rightfully and honestly. You ought to have more; but he's close-fisted, and you must be content with this.'
'Well, Frank,' said Cragin, 'what do you say to hitching horses with me? I'll give you two fifths, and put a hundred against your thirty.
'What shall I do?' said Frank to me.