Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Coal mines and mining -- Juvenile fiction; Foundlings -- Juvenile fiction; Scranton (Pa.) -- Juvenile fiction
"Well, his consent to the choice of a guardian is not necessary; but I
think it would be better, under the circumstances, if he would go into
court with us, and agree to your appointment. Do you think he will?"
Old Simon frowned savagely.
"Yes, he will," he exclaimed. "I'll make him do it. I've made him do
harder things than that; it's a pity if I can't make him do what's for
his own benefit now!" He struck the floor viciously with his cane.
"Easy," said the lawyer, soothingly, "easy; I fear the boy has been
his own master too long to be bullied. We shall have to work him in a
different way now. I think I can manage it, though. I'll have him come
down here some day, after we get Mrs. Burnham's refusal to acknowledge
him, and I'll explain matters to him, and show him why it's necessary
that you should take hold of the case. I'll use logic with him, and
I'll wager that he'll come around all right. You must treat boys as
though they were men, Craft. They will listen to reason, and yield to
persuasion, but they won't be bullied, not even into a fortune. By the
way, I don't quite understand how it was, if Burnham was searching
energetically for the boy, and you were searching with as much energy
for the boy's father all those years, that you didn't meet each other
sooner."
Craft looked up slyly from under his shaggy eyebrows.
"May I speak confidentially?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Well, then, I didn't wear myself out hunting for the boy's friends,
for the first year or two. Time increases the value of some things,
you know--lost children, particularly. I knew there was money back
of the boy by the looks of his clothes. I kept matters pretty well
covered up for a while; allowed that he was my grandson; made him
call me 'Grandpa'; carried the scheme a little too far, and came near
losing everything. Now, do you see?"
Sharpman nodded, and smiled knowingly. "You're a shrewd man, Craft,"
he said.
But the old man's thought had returned to the wealth he believed to
be in store for him. "What's to be done now?" he asked. "Ain't there
something we can start on?"
"No; we can do nothing until after I have seen the widow, and that
will be a couple of months yet at least. In the meantime, you must not
say a word to any one about this matter. The boy, especially, must not
know that you have been here. Come again about the first of September.
In the meantime, get together the evidence necessary to establish the
boy's identity. We mustn't fail in that when it comes to an issue."
"I'll have proof enough, no fear of that. The only thing I don't like
about the business is this waiting. I'm pretty bad here," placing his
bony hand on his chest; "no knowing how long I'll last."
"Oh! you're good for twenty years yet," said Sharpman, heartily,
taking him by the hand, and walking with him to the door. "A--are you
pretty well off for money? Would trifling loan be of any benefit to
you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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