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Updated: June 25, 2025
"You don't understand the position of a young man placed as he was. Herresford was understood to have discarded him as his heir. No doubt the young fellow had raised money on his expectations. Creditors were making existence a burden to him. Many a soldier has ended things with a revolver and an inquest for less than seven thousand dollars."
"Go and get shot, sir and be damned to you!" cried the old man. "You are in a bad temper, grandfather. I've said my adieu. You have always misunderstood and abused me. Good-bye. I'll offend you no longer." The young man stalked out haughtily, and old Herresford collapsed again; but he tried to rally. His strength failed him.
They were presented at the bank by your son, Mr. Richard Swinton, and it's Mr. Herresford's opinion that the alterations were made by the young man. He holds the bank responsible for the seven thousand dollars drawn by your son " "But the checks are signed by Herresford!" cried Swinton, hotly.
The time of her marriage was drawing near, and she was striving to cast out of her heart all thoughts of Dick, or of the Swintons, or anybody connected with the old, happy days. If Mr. Herresford desired to see her, it could only be to talk about Dick. The blood rushed to her cheeks. Then came a reaction, and her heart almost stood still as the wild idea came that perhaps, after all, Dick lived.
The arguments of the woman were, indeed, unanswerable: the misery of it was that the whole thing resolved itself into a simple question of right and wrong. As a clergyman of the church he could not countenance a lie, live a lie, and stand idly by while Herresford compelled the bank to refund the money stolen from them by his wife.
The sunlight streamed into the bedroom, and Herresford, drawing the curtains of his ebony bedstead, lay blinking in their shadow, looking out over his garden, and noting every beauty with the keen pleasure of an ardent lover of horticulture his only hobby. As advancing age laid its finger more heavily upon him, he had become increasingly irritable and impossible.
I call it getting a bit on account by forcing the hand of a skinflint. For old Herresford is worse than the Ormsbys, worse than the Jews. He has owed me money for eighteen months, and I've got to go to the courts to force him to pay. I've had a boy go wrong myself; but he's working with me now as straight and good a lad as man could wish.
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