But suddenly he found himself looked on with aversion by Merriwell’s companions, who began to mutter among themselves. Their black looks and ominous behavior alarmed him. “I believe the fools are going to jump on me!” he thought. Fear overcame him, and he made haste to get out of the room and the building, leaving Hashi to follow when he would. Although he had not broken Frank Merriwell’s leg, Hashi had the five hundred dollars. CHAPTER XXXV. THE OLD HOME. The town of Bloomfield was agog. Strange things were transpiring there, and gossip was busy. Old Jacob Worthen, the richest man in town, known to be a miserly old curmudgeon, came knocking along the wooden sidewalk with his crooked cane. Several of the villagers saw him. In a body they left the steps of Lem Briggs’ grocery store, where they had been loafing and blocked the sidewalk. “How de do, Mr. Worthen?” said one. “Fine day ter-day.” “Haw!” said old Jacob. “That reminds me, Cy Jones, I’ve got a little note of yourn that runs out next Tewsday. I s’pose ye’ll be reddy to pay. I need the money.” “’Cordin’ to what I hear,” said another of the group, “you can’t be needin’ money much jest now, Mr. Worthen. They do say you’ve sold the old Merriwell place.” “Sold it!” snapped the richest man in Bloomfield. “I had to give it away. Best place in this town, too; but it’s hoodooed. Been a constant outset to me ever sence it came inter my hands. Then stories about it bein’ ha’nted ruined its valoo. Didn’t nobody want to buy it, an’ I couldn’t keep a tenant on it. Yes, sir, I hed to give it away.” “Who bought it?” “One of them smart city lawyer chaps. He bought it for another party, too. S’pose if I’d knowed who wanted it I might ’a’ got a thousan’ or so more fer it.” “Well, who was it that wanted it?” “Old Asher Merriwell’s nevvy. Mebbe some of ye remembers him? Ruther smart-lookin’ young chap last time I saw him.” “Why,” said Cy Jones, “I heerd he lost all his money an’ was poor.” “Guess that was right time you heerd abaout it. His guardeen speckerlated and lost everything. Sence then, though, the boy run acrost his father. You’ve heerd about him—gambled a good deal. He went out West somewhere an’ found some rich mines. Well, he died, an’ them mines went to the boy. They do say he’s got more money’n he knows what to do with.” “Well, what’s he goin’ to do with the old place?” “Fix it up fer his home, I s’pose. He’s got a crew of city workmen tinkerin’ away there now an’ a nigger—some one old Asher hed—kinder lookin’ after the place.”