“Hardly that,” said the Doctor, with a benevolent smile. “You are richer than I am, for all I know, but I can’t consent to let you work for nothing or pay my law bills.”
“Your bills!” exclaimed the Judge. “Do you think a man has no soul because he’s a lawyer? I know that’s the prevailing impression, but it’s wrong in my case.”
“I believe that fully,” replied Dr. Manning; “but I want you to understand that I have at least as deep an interest in this matter as you have.”
“Well, then,” replied the Judge, “if I lose anything in it, I’ll call on you for your check for half. Is that fair?”
“Perfectly,” said Dr. Manning. “When shall you send for him?”
“First thing Monday,” said the Judge. “I arranged that with him when I was there. We’ll have this matter settled, or nearly so, before we’re a week older.”
That was all very well for them who seemed to understand it, but what of the two impatient boys up there in Ogleport?
What, too, of Mr. Ashbel Norton, fretting and fuming at his hotel, or in aimless drives around the city?
What, more than all, of Major Montague, alias “Major Robert Norton, formerly of the British army,” as he drooped and muttered behind the bars of his solitary prison cell?
“I never dreamed of this,” he said, as if reproaching somebody. “It came awfully near it sometimes, that’s a fact; but I always thought I could fend it off somehow. I always did, too, till that young rascal caught me in a bad way, and run off with that valise. And so poor Lydia’s dead, and she’s left a will! Don’t I wish I knew just what was in that will!”