Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1906-02-10
CHAPTER XXI.


on. At this rate" he sighed, I'VE shall
take months before / get back the prop
erty."
There will be no trade this morning,
uncle" David replied, standing In the
doorway. 1t was week after had told
him the truth. He had been turning 1t
over In his mind In the interval.
'Why notT David. II you were near
ly seventy you would be anxious to get
on; you would not shilly-shally over
single bit Of paper Let US get on, Da-
vid. Oh, you've got all the power now,
and l am in your hands. / won't grum-
BILE, David. No, take your own time,
my boy; take your own time"
The poor old man was strangely al
tered In four or Ave weeks, that he
should thus humble himself before his
nephew. But David had all the power so
long as he had any Of those coupons left
you little thought when l came here
that | was going to give you 80 much
trouble, did you, Uncle Daniel1 You
thought you had the whip hand over me
always, didn't your But you see, first
tho fall from your pony, then the loss OF
your papers, then the stroke, then my
coming home and finding those papers
there's more to follow"
What moref Oh, David, what moref'
the helpless old man only groaned.
To-day, uncle, have come to talk
about my sunt's will. VIII Nethercote
told me- You did not You thought that
as soon as our little business was nnish-
ed should go away and never come
back any more. You thought you would
keen fhe Ala Not nnrla
not SOP
Il thought you would never find II
out, David" Mr.. Leighan confessed, with
somewhat surprising candor ~ soon
found that you knew nothing about It,
and that you never go about and talk;
and | was pretty certain that you would
never find out. Well, now you know,
what difference does It maker You ara
no nearer the money"
I'VE shall see Ny aunt might JUST
as well have left II to me as to you.
To be sure, | never thought she had half
80 much. She began with a thousand.
Sho must have pinched and saved She
left 1t to Mary, on the condition Of her
marrying with your consent and, II not,
the money was to go to me. And II
was dead, the will said nothing. So you
thought you could stick to the money.
Uncle, you're a foxy onel You ought to
be In the States, and thirty years young
err. There you would find yourself at
home, with plenty Of opportunity. Well
| am wiser now than | was. And see
now, uncle, | don't mean to 70 away
until this question is settled. What are
you going TO dot"
why should tell your"
Keep It to yourself, then. l will tel
you what you thought you were going t,
do; I've worked II all out First II yor
let George and Mary get married befor,
the law lets you take Sidcote you will
lose Sidcote." He began, in his slow
way. to tick of his points upon his fin
gers. That's the first thing. After
you have got Sidcote, you will be still
loath to let the money go, and you will
keep Mary waiting on. You think that
shall soon go. Then you will keep the
money as long as you live. But suppose
they were to marry without your consent
all the money comes to incomes to me
That sticks, doesn't til You can let
them marry now-and you will lose Sid
cote; you can let them marry after you
have got Sidcote; and you will have to
pay up; II you keep on refusing your con.
sent, you can keep the money as long as
you like-unless they marry without
Then you've got to give 1t to me. You've
had a taste of me already"
He waited a little. His uncle said
nothing, but watched him from under
his long, white eyebrows-not contempt.
uously. as on the FIRST interview after his
return, but with the respect due to the
strength Of the situation.
Very well, then; you would rather
give that money to Mary than to me-
But you would like to get Sidcots; you
hate the thought Of giving 1t to me, you
intended to keep II yourself Yet there
is no way out Of il if you want SLcote
Perhaps you think you would give 1t to
Mary, after you have got Sidcote. But
suppose she marries beforef Then you
would be obliged to give 1t all to me-"
go on, David; perhaps you are going
to propose something"
Il have been thinking things over, IN.
Gle You are getting old, you may die
any day; then Mary would be free. II
is true that she might marry tomorrow
In which case should be entitled TO ey,
srythlng. But l don't think she would
be such fool. II were Mary, | should
wait. You are seventy now, and you'v,
lost the use Of your legs. You can't last
very long. I should wait, II | wer,
Mary. Yes; it might be a year or two
II couldn't be longer"
His uncle heard without any emotion
this argument In favor Of his approa ch
ing demise-country people use plainnes,
of speech about such matters-but h,
felt himself very far from dying. as mas
terful men always do up to the very end
well, David, supposing that what yo,
say Is common sense, what nextf II
Mary marries at once she il q fool. anf
then l have you TO reckon with. Their,
is good bit outstanding on the old &C
count. and | don't suppose there would
he much coming to you when COMPOUND
interest and all comes to be reckonet
up"
''As for your outstanding accounts. W,
shall see when the time comes. And a,
for compound interest, 1t will be fol
you to pay that on my aunt's six thou
sand pounds"
The interest went for the keep Of
Mary"
81 haven't heard that there's wort
about that in the will You've had he,
services as housekseper for Eve years
and you've pocketed the interest. Why
] take it that you made per cent
That's three hundred year. There vii
be a beautiful day OF reckoning. uncle
The rele Of your coupons is nothing I,
it,"
you were going to make a proposal
DavidY'
Buy me of. old man"