"Do you know, I find him a very engaging young man. Why, why are your cheeks blooming so? Can't one say as much as that for relaxation after a nasty quarter of an hour?" A soft gurgle of laughter went to the listening lawyer. "I did not know you ever condescended to such play, Mr. Wrenn." "Well, don't tell, will you? My best wishes to you all, and especially to Herbert, and tell him I shall come to the island to look him over in a short time." "Do. Mr. Barrison will take you fishing." "Is he always successful? Does he know just what bait to use?" Another soft gurgle. "You don't understand, Mr. Wrenn. He uses too much bait. He catches too many fish. Good-bye. My mother has just come in. She is going with us to Maine." A pause. "She hopes to see you there. Good-bye." Before the arrival of the Copley-Plaza contingent at the island, Matt Blake received the following letter: _Dear Matt_: You know the business that brought me to Boston. I proved my position all right. The old man's lawyer couldn't deny it, but the boy, not being named in the will, as, of course, I knew he wouldn't be, the lawyer said it would take a long time before he could get anything for Bert, and advised me to put the boy into his hands. So I'm going to let him run matters to suit himself. I'm asking you if you will be good enough to pack up my stuff at the island and send everything on C.O.D. to the address on the card I enclose. You know what I found at the farm, but I've got to wait till I can get some backing before I can do anything about it. Keep it under your hat, though. You know what I left at the farm, too: out in the kitchen. Take that for your trouble. I don't know what I'm going to do next. What I do know is that a lawyer has no more blood than a turnip, and that a man can go to the expense and trouble of taking care of a boy for five years and then be asked to hand him over to those that know he'll have money, without even a thank you for all he has done. I'm disgusted with the world. Your friend, NICHOLAS GAYNE When he read this, Matt Blake looked off thoughtfully, his thin lips twitching. "I hope Phil Barrison can tell me all that's between those lines," he thought. CHAPTER XVIII DIANA'S IDEAL "Come here, Aunt Priscilla," called Veronica at the top of her lungs. It was a joyous call, and Miss Burridge hurried into the dining-room where, a few minutes before, she had left Veronica sweeping, and found her standing still and confronting a boy who stood, hat in hand, while on the floor beside him reposed a new and handsome suitcase. "Would you know him, Aunt Priscilla?" Miss Burridge pulled down her spectacles and gazed at the trim figure with the immaculately brushed and parted hair. "It ain't Bertie Gayne? Why, it is! Where are the other folks? Somebody has been being awful good to you."