“Thank God, Pole, thank God!” Floyd cried. “I can hardly believe it's true.”
“Well, it is, all right enough,” Baker assured him. “Now, I'm goin' to catch the ten-thirty train. I want to git home before you do, an' git this thing circulated—so nobody won't snub you an' feel bad about it afterwards. I'll strike old Mrs. Snodgrass the fust thing. She is editor of the Hill-top Whirlwind, an' will have an extra out ten minutes after I land containin' full particulars. Fer once I'm goin' to put her to a good use. She'll certainly make the rounds, an' as I don't want the old thing to walk 'er props off, I'll lend 'er a hoss. But I'll tell you what I'd like fer you to do, Nelson, an' I almost ax it as a favor.”
“What's that, Pole?”
“Why, I want you to take that old chap under yore wing to-day an' git 'im out o' the clutch o' them shyster lawyers that's got 'im scared to death.”
“You may rest assured that I'll do that,” Floyd said, as he hurried away.
A moment later, as Pole was passing Nelson's room to reach the main stairway, he glanced through the open door. Old Floyd sat with bowed head, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief, and his nephew stood by him, his hand resting on his shoulder.
XL
THREE days later, towards sundown, as Pole was about to enter Floyd & Mayhew's store, the old man came from! behind one of the counters and, with a smile of welcome, caught his arm and drew him to the edge of the sidewalk.