Wait and Hope: or, A Plucky Boy's Luck

"Mind your own business, boy," retorted John Tremlett sharply. "Do you think I am going to stand your impudence?"

"I think it is just as well you have waited till after Uncle Matthew's death before speaking of him in that way."

"Don't let up on the boy! Make him pay every cent of the debt,

Brief!" exclaimed John Tremlett angrily.

"Of course we shall follow up the matter, Mr. Tremlett."

"Have him arrested if he doesn't pay, Brief."

Ben smiled.

"You seem to forget, Mr. Tremlett, that I am not your debtor. The claim is against my aunt."

"Is that so, Brief?"

"The boy is right."

"I am sorry for it. I should like to hold him responsible."

"No doubt, Mr. Tremlett," said Ben; "but we can't always have our wishes granted."

"Leave the matter in my hands," said the lawyer. "I will do what is best."

"By the way, Brief," said John Tremlett, "I mustn't forget my errand.

I want some money."

"Some money? I gave you two hundred dollars last week."

"Well, it's gone, and I want some more."

"Mr. Tremlett," said the lawyer gravely, "are you aware how much money you have spent during the last four weeks?"

"No, I have kept no account."

"Well I have. You have drawn eight hundred dollars."

"It costs something to see life."

"Perhaps so! but I cannot permit you to exceed your income – during the first year, at least. Thus far you have spent twice as much as you were entitled to draw."

Ben listened attentively. He had no idea of the extent of his uncle's property. If it yielded four hundred dollars a month, as he inferred, it must amount to nearly, if not quite, a hundred thousand dollars. And this young man was not content with that. Our hero could not help wondering at his unreasonableness.

"I don't see how I can economize," muttered Tremlett.

"What was your income before Mr. Baldwin's death, Mr. Tremlett?" inquired Mr. Brief.

"I starved on eight hundred dollars a year."

"Then it seems to me you aught to live comfortably now on five thousand."

"My circumstances are changed."

"At this rate you'll run through the property in ten years."

"Oh, I'll pull up after awhile," said the heir carelessly. "So just give me a couple of hundreds, old fellow!"

"I will hand you a hundred," said Mr. Brief reluctantly. "Hereafter you must keep within your allowance."

"You're getting to be as miserly as the old man," said Tremlett.

"What's your name, boy?"

"My name is Benjamin Bradford."

"I suppose we are cousins, or something of that sort. Come out and take a drink."

"No, thank you. I never drink."

"You don't? What a prig you must be! Good-bye, Brief."

The heir left the office, and Mr. Brief turned to Ben.

"What do you think of your uncle's heir?" he inquired.

"I think he is going to ruin rapidly," answered Ben.

"You are right. The grub has become a butterfly, and the sober clerk has developed into a gay spendthrift. He was your uncle's clerk and distant relative. It would make the old man turn in his coffin if he knew how quickly his money is likely to melt away."

"Can't you check him?" asked Ben.

"For twelve months I can. After that I am powerless. I wish he were more like you."

"Thank you," said Ben, surprised at the compliment.

"My bark is worse that my bite," said the lawyer. "About this claim against your aunt I will do what I can for you, but try to find the letter you refer to. The sum is a small one."

"It is large to us."

"Just so; but my client would squander it in a week. Let me hear from you after you have returned and instituted a further search."

"Thank you, sir, I will write."

Ben left the office, judging Mr. Brief more favorably than at first.

With John Tremlett, he was disgusted.