“Faix, you are mighty cool about it,” laughed O’Hara. “Where is it from?” “From London. I will read it to you, O’Hara, if you will keep it to yourself.” “Oh, no! I don’t ask to hear what’s in it.” “But I want you to hear it.” “Then I will keep your secret.” “‘Uncle dead; letters sent: come to London quick. RODWOOD.’” This was the despatch. CHAPTER II. THE LETTER FROM LONDON. “I thought you said you had no friends to die or be sick,” said O’Hara, when Tom Speers had read the neglected despatch. “I said I had no near friends,” explained Tom. “Don’t you call your uncle a near friend, especially if you have no others?” “I should say that would depend upon circumstances. I never lived with my uncle, and I never saw a great deal of him. He was a very rich man: I have heard it said that he was worth five or six millions.” “Murder! what an uncle!” exclaimed O’Hara. “Five or six millions! that’s a power of money. How many children had he?” “None at all; not a chick nor a child,” replied Tom, amused at the manner of his companion, who always indulged in the brogue when he was excited. “Howly St. Patrick! five or six millions of money, and not a child in the world? What has he done with it all?” “I don’t know,” replied Tom coolly. “How many brothers and sisters had he?” asked O’Hara, opening his mouth with the interest he felt in the case. “None at all.” “How can he be your uncle, then? That’s what bothers me.” “My father was his only brother, and they had no sisters. My father died when I was ten years old; and my mother died two years ago, just before I joined the academy ship.” “Begorra, then you are the heir of the five or six millions!” shouted O’Hara, as excited as though all the money were coming to him. “Faix, I’m glad to be in the same watch with you! I shall make it the business of my loife to cultivate your frindship.” “I don’t think it will pay for you to do so, for I never saw my uncle a dozen times in my life; and I am confident he has given his money to some other person,” answered Tom, laughing at the enthusiasm of his companion. “He never did a thing for me, and, what is worse, he never did a thing for my mother when she needed help; and so it isn’t likely that he has left any of his money for me.” “Whose name is it signed to the despatch?” “Rodwood; Judge Rodwood. He always was a great crony and adviser of my uncle; and now I suppose he is the executor or administrator.” “Why should he telegraph to you if your uncle didn’t lave you the money?” demanded O’Hara warmly. “I don’t know: I may get the letters he sent before we sail for home.” “But he says you are to go to London quick; and I shall not have you in my watch, after all.” “Yes, you will; for I shall not go to London,” added Tom decidedly. “Howly Mother! not go, when there is five or six millions of money waiting for you to put your hand to it?” gasped O’Hara.