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Updated: June 6, 2025
Had Marcus Wilkeson not been present, the father might have been brought to terms by this vague but dreadful threat. But now he shook his head, as an intimation that nothing could move him. "You have taken your own course, sir," continued the son, through his closed teeth. "I shall take mine. Don't forget my last words. As for you, sir," turning to Marcus Wilkeson, "we shall probably meet again."
Acting upon this advice, Marcus Wilkeson, blushing, returned a courtly salute, which was immediately reciprocated by a still lower bow, and a pleasant smile from the old gentleman. Wilkeson bowed again, and added a smile. The old gentleman did the same; and this odd exchange of civilities was beginning to get awkward for Wilkeson, when the old gentleman's attention was suddenly called off.
And the poor, dear child is my niece. Heaven be praised, she is found at last!" "You have guessed rightly. Miss Minford is your niece. The proofs will be found in this packet. They are articles of clothing, taken from the child as fast as new ones were supplied, to prevent its identification, bearing the initials of Helen Wilkeson.
"I, for one, am curious to know how this ingenious plan of advertising, in defiance of the law, succeeded." Mr. Wilkeson expressed himself curious on the same point. Bog, thus encouraged, continued: "When I come home, after havin' stuck up six thousand bills in the principal towns and villages along the route, I went right to Mr. Fink.
Perhaps you would like to argue that point." Overtop smiled, as if nothing would give him greater pleasure than to annihilate a few dozen opinions to the contrary. "To save argument, as usual, we admit everything," responded Wilkeson. "But, pray condescend to tell us how you know this fine old boy to be superlatively rich."
Near him, on the floor, was a club with an iron tip, which had done the dreadful deed. She recognized it at once as a part of the machine. The monstrous vision of the night was true! Her father was dead! Mr. Wilkeson was his murderer! She was an orphan! These agonizing thoughts flashed through her brain in the single instant. She felt her head turning, and her limbs failing under her.
Marcus Wilkeson was happy in his contented bachelorhood, in the happiness of his niece and of all around him, and in the clearing up of the "Minford enigma." Wesley Tiffles was happy because happiness was his constitutional disposition, under all circumstances and in all weathers.
Having said which, the speaker looked about for somebody to contradict him, and was disappointed in finding no one. Marcus Wilkeson said: "Here, Matt, none of that generous nonsense, if you please. I am the prisoner, my good people." As Marcus spoke, he stretched forward, and exhibited his face to the gaze of the red-shirted querist and his companions. "No, you don't!" said that fiery leader.
Upon being introduced to Uncle Ith, Marcus gave the old man's hand a warm pressure, but said nothing. But Uncle Ith saw in his eyes an expression of the deepest gratitude, and he knew what it meant; for he had read the report of the inquest at Overtop's office, and there learned, for the first time, the unhappy connection of Marcus Wilkeson with the Minford affair.
Johnson ran her between Buffalo and Detroit until 1828, when hard times coming on and business threatening to be unprofitable, he sold his interest in her, and left the lakes. In company with Goodman and Wilkeson, he built the Commodore, on the Chagrin river, in the year 1830, and that closed his ship-building career.
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