“Nothin’.”
“Well, he did have something to will, and he appointed me joint guardian, with another gentleman, and you, Mr. Tarr, are not the party named to assist me. We have already made application in the New York courts to have the appointment allowed and the will has been presented for probate.”
“I—I don’t believe it!” shouted Arad.
“You’re not obliged to. But that doesn’t affect the facts of the case, just the same.”
For a moment the farmer was quite nonplussed: but then he looked at the man he had brought with him again, and his faith revived.
“Ye can’t escape me this way, ye young varmint!” he exclaimed, turning upon Brandon as though he were some way at fault for the wrecking of his plans. “Mebbe I hain’t your guardeen, but I’ve power ’nough right here ter lug ye back ter Scituate an’ put yer through fur stealin’ that money.”
“What money?” demanded Brandon, white with rage. “To what do you refer?”
“That fifty dollars ye stole f’om me—that’s what I mean,” old Arad declared. “Th’ money ye stoled f’om my beury droor. I gotter warrant right here fur ye, ’n’ this officer ter serve it!”
CHAPTER XXVI
CALEB WETHERBEE OBSTRUCTS THE COURSE OF THE LAW
Brandon was fairly paralyzed by Uncle Arad’s announcement. He had realized that the old man was sorely disappointed at his inability to keep him on the farm. He had not, however, believed he would follow him clear to New York, and hatch up such a scheme as this to get him again in his power.