LITMIR.BIZ

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by one of the deep windows of the post-office, I read the letter through twice. It will be needless for me to state that it impressed me strangely.

      The most important statement made by the writer was that my father had never intended my uncle to be my guardian. I knew of the family quarrel, but Mr. Stillwell, when he had taken me from the academy, had assured me that that was all past and gone, and I had been delighted to have it so, for it had always pained me to see my mother not on speaking terms with my aunt. But apparently my uncle had not told the truth, and for reasons of his own.

      How was it that Mr. Stillwell had been appointed my guardian when my father wished Mr. Banker to act in that capacity? This was a question that worried me not a little. I liked Harry's father very much, and was sure he would have treated me with far more consideration than I was now receiving.

      The perusal of the letter drove all thoughts of the unpleasant scene I had left behind from my mind, and I was on the point of going directly to my uncle for an explanation of the case. But then came the recollection of Mr. Stillwell's manner towards me, and I shoved the letter into my pocket, resolved to say nothing until I had thought the matter over.

      I walked back to the office slowly, for I was in deep thought. For two years my uncle had been my guardian, and during that time my life had been little better than a continual hardship. The letter brought up the memory of the past, and I realized now more than ever how happy the days gone by had been. What had brought about the change?

      Clearly, the way I was being treated. Mr. Stillwell cared nothing for me, body or soul. Indeed, at that moment I was inclined to think that he would be as well satisfied to see me dead as alive. Perhaps if I were dead he would inherit the money left me by my father.

      This thought had never occurred to me before, and I gave it considerable attention. When I came to review the whole matter I discovered that in reality I knew very little of my own affairs. I had taken many things for granted, and my uncle's word on all occasions. Whether this was for the best was still to be seen.

      I was glad I had not gone on a visit that day. Had I done so Mr. Stillwell would have received my letter, and I do not doubt but that he would have opened it. As it was, he knew nothing of the communication, and I did not intend that he should until I was ready to disclose it to him.

      By the stamp upon the letter sheet, I saw that Mr. Nottington was a solicitor, and this made my mind revert to Mr. Ira Mason. As I have said, the lawyer had taken an interest in me, and I was sure he would now give me the best advice in his power.

      I was sorry I could not go to the gentleman at once. The letter had fired my curiosity, and I wanted to get at the bottom of the affair.

      But I had already lost time: to lose more would raise a storm of anger against me. I determined to wait until the noon hour, or after my uncle had gone home.

      The firm of patent lawyers of which my uncle was senior partner was composed of himself, Mr. Grinder, a short, stumpy busybody, now away to Washington on business, and Mr. Canning, a young man who had been but recently taken in, not so much because he was needed, I fancied, as because he brought with him plenty of money and a good business connection.

      Mr. Canning did not come to business until very late, as he lived twenty-five miles out of the city, in New Jersey. There were no clerks but Gus and myself; so when I arrived at the office I found Mr. Stillwell still alone.

      My uncle's face was as dark as a thunder-cloud when I handed him the letters. I made up my mind he was about to lecture me for having taken my time, and I braced up to withstand the shower of strong language he would be sure to heap upon me.

      "So, young man, you've got back at last!" he exclaimed.

      "Yes, sir."

      "Been rather a long while."

      To this I made no reply. What was there to say?

      "It's a wonder you came back at all," he went on. "To be honest, I never expected to see you again."

      "I'm sorry I can't please you, Uncle Felix."

      "Don't Uncle Felix me!" he cried savagely. "After your dirty work to-day I don't want to be any relation to you."

      This was certainly putting it rather strongly.

      "Whether you believe it or not, I didn't muss up the office," I said firmly. "Gus did that."

      "I left Gus at home," he cried, even more emphatically than before, and I could see that he was really angry because of my having dragged his son's name into the dispute.

      "Gus was here, and left just before you came."

      "I don't believe it."

      "All the same, it is true."

      "It's only a story to pass your crimes off on my son. But it won't wash, Luke, it won't wash."

      I made no further reply, seeing it was useless to try to reason with him, but hung up my hat and turned my attention to cleaning up the floor.

      CHAPTER III

      SOMEBODY'S CRIME

      While engaged in tidying up the office I noticed for the first time that the door of the safe stood open. This was a most unusual thing, and I wondered if my uncle had taken something out and forgotten to close it. He was a very careful man, and if he had it was the first time I had known him to do such a thing.

      "The safe door is open," I said mildly, as he moved as if to leave the office.

      "Have you just found that out?" he sneered; and then I saw that he had gone over to the door of the office only to close it.

      "Was it open before?" I asked in some alarm.

      He looked at me for a moment in silence, the cloud upon his brow deepening.

      "Luke, you are a mighty cool one for a boy, but I've got you fast, so you might as well give in," he said finally. "Come, now, I want no nonsense."

      This unexpected speech only bewildered me.

      "I don't understand you, Uncle Felix."

      "How many times must I tell you that I am no longer your uncle?" he stormed. "From this time I am done with you."

      "What have I done?"

      "What have you done? What haven't you done? Ruined your good name forever!"

      "I didn't muss up – "

      "Oh, pshaw, give the floor and the office a rest! I want you to own up without further words."

      By this time I was more bewildered than ever. What in the world was my uncle driving at?

      "What do you want me to own up to?" I asked.

      "You know well enough."

      "No, I don't."

      "Yes, you do."

      "I don't."

      "I'll give you five minutes to make a full confession," he cried, in a perfect rage. "At the end of that time if you are still obdurate I will hand you over to the police."

      This was certainly alarming news. Surely something serious had happened.

      "If you will tell me what the trouble is, I'll try to answer your question," was all I could find to say.

      Again he looked at me in that hard, cold manner.

      "I want you to tell me," he said, with great deliberation, "I want you to tell me instantly what you have done with the six thousand dollars and the papers that were in the safe."

      I stood amazed. For a moment I hardly realized the meaning of the words that had been spoken.

      "The six thousand dollars that were in the safe!" I gasped.

      "Exactly."

      "I don't know anything about the money. I didn't know you had six thousand in the place."

      "Yes, you did. You saw me place it in the safe yesterday afternoon."

      "No, sir, I did not."

      "You did: and you took it out either last night or this morning. Come, tell me what you have

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