Chester Rand | Page 8

ejaculated Silas. "You must think I am made of

money. Why, two dollars a week would make a hundred and four
dollars a year."
"That wouldn't be much for a man of your means, Mr. Tripp."
"You talk foolish, Chester. I have to work hard for a livin'. If I helped
all my shif'less relations I'd end my days in the poorhouse."
"I don't think you'll go there from that cause," Chester could not help
saying.
"I guess not. I ain't a fool. Let every tub stand on its own bottom, I say.
But I won't be too hard. Here's twenty-five cents," and Silas took a
battered quarter from the money drawer.
"Take it and use it careful."
"I think we will try to get along without it," said Chester, with a curl of
the lip. "I'm afraid you can't afford it."
"Do just as you like," said Silas, putting back the money with a sigh of
relief, "but don't say I didn't offer to do something for Walter."
"No; I will tell him how much you offered to give."
"That's a queer boy," said Mr. Tripp, as Chester left the store. "Seems
to want me to pay all Walter Bruce's expenses. What made him come to
Wyncombe to get sick? He'd better have stayed where he lived, and
then he'd have had a claim to go to the poorhouse. He can't live on me,
I tell him that. Them Rands are foolish to take him in. They're as poor
as poverty themselves, and now they've taken in a man who ain't no
claim on them. I expect they thought they'd get a good sum out of me
for boardin' him. There's a great many onrasonable people in the
world."
"I will go and see Mr. Morris, the minister," decided the perplexed
Chester. "He will tell me what to do."
Accordingly he called on the minister and unfolded the story to

sympathetic ears.
"You did right, Chester," said Mr. Morris. "The poor fellow was
fortunate to fall into your hands. But won't it be too much for your
mother?"
"It's the expense I am thinking of, Mr. Morris. You know I have lost
my situation, and mother has no shoes to bind."
"I can help you, Chester. A rich lady of my acquaintance sends me a
hundred dollars every year to bestow in charity. I will devote a part of
this to the young man whom you have so kindly taken in, say at the rate
of eight dollars a week."
"That will make us feel easy," said Chester gratefully. "How much do
you think his uncle offered me?"
"I am surprised that he should have offered anything."
"He handed me twenty-five cents, but I told him I thought we could get
along without it."
"And you will. Silas Tripp has a small soul, hardly worth saving. He
has made money his god, and serves his chosen deity faithfully."
"I wouldn't change places with him for all his wealth."
"Some day you may be as rich as he, but I hope, if you are, you will use
your wealth better."
At the beginning of the third week Walter Bruce became suddenly
worse. His constitution was fragile, and the disease had undermined his
strength. The doctor looked grave.
"Do you think I shall pull through, doctor?" asked the young man.
"While there is life there is hope, Mr. Bruce."
"That means that the odds are against me?"

"Yes, I am sorry to say that you are right."
Walter Bruce looked thoughtful.
"I don't think I care much for life," he said. "I have had many
disappointments, and I know that at the best I could never be strong and
enjoy life as most of my age do--I am resigned."
"How old are you, Walter?" asked Chester.
"Twenty-nine. It is a short life."
"Is there anyone you would wish me to notify if the worst comes?"
"No, I have scarcely a relative--except Silas Tripp," he added, with a
bitter smile.
"You have no property to dispose of by will?" asked the doctor.
"Yes," was the unexpected answer, "but I shall not make a will. A will
may be contested. I will give it away during my life."
Chester and the doctor looked surprised. They thought the other might
refer to a ring or some small article.
"I want everything to be legal," resumed Bruce. "Is there a lawyer in
the village?"
"Yes, Lawyer Gardener."
"Send for him. I shall feel easier when I have attended to this last duty."
Within half an hour the lawyer was at his bedside.
"In the inside pocket of my coat," said Walter Bruce, "you will find a
document. It is the deed of five lots in the town of Tacoma, in
Washington Territory. I was out there last year,