“Indeed it does,” Phil replied. “But I don’t see how I can help you about it.” “Don’t, eh? Well, I’ll tell you,” said the old man, eying his son closely. “That forty acres is about quarter of the farm-land in value, I calculate, counting out the house an’ other buildin’s. If I was makin’ my will, an’ dividin’ things up among the family, I’d leave just about that much land to you, with an interest in the house, stock, etcetery, when the Lord sees fit to call your mother. So”--here the old man intensified his gaze--“I’ve arranged to give my quarter interest in the enterprise to you, as your inheritance: that’ll make you a director in the comp’ny, with as much say as anybody else. It’ll keep you in York a good deal, though.” “Father!” exclaimed Phil. “An’,” continued the old man, dropping his eyes as soon as his son looked at him, and putting on the countenance in which he usually discussed the ordinary affairs of the farm, “as it may need some money for you to keep up proper style with the people whom you’ll have to deal with, I propose to put the five thousand in bank here to our joint account, so you can draw whenever you need cash.” The old man began to pare fine shavings from the tooth-pick which he had cherished ever since he left the dining-room, but Phil compelled a suspension of industry for a moment by going over to his father’s chair and pressing the gray head to his breast. “The other principal stockholders,” said the old man, as soon as he was able to resume his whittling, “are Tramlay an’ a man named Marge.” “Marge!” Phil echoed. “You seem to know him,” said the farmer, looking up from under his eyebrows. “I should think so,” said Phil, frowning and twitching his lips a great deal. “He’s the man----” “Well?” asked the old man, for Phil had not finished his sentence. There was no reply, so he continued,-- “The man you thought had caught the gal?” Phil nodded affirmatively. “Now you see what comes of goin’ off at half-cock,” said the farmer. “Lost your expenses two ways, to say nothin’ of peace o’ mind.” “I heard one man telling another it,” said Phil, quite humbly: “so what was I to think?” “If you believe ev’rythin’ you hear about men an’ women, my boy, you’ll be off your course all your life long. Take a good grip on that.” Again Phil went into a brown study, from which he emerged suddenly to say,-- “It’s just what you did, when you supposed you learned she wasn’t engaged, isn’t it? You believed it, and wrote it at once to me.” “Oh, no!” said the old man, with an air of superiority as he put a very sharp point on what remained of the tooth-pick. “Not much. I’ve learned always to go to head-quarters for information.” “Why, father,” Phil exclaimed, excitedly, “you don’t mean to say, after what you promised me, that you went--and--and----”