The old man did not answer. He was holding the paper close to his
eyes, and going over it word by word.

"Yes," he said, finally; "I suppose it's all right. I'm not very
familiar with written contracts, but I'll venture it."

Burnham had risen again from his chair, and was striding up and down
the floor.

"When will you bring him?" he asked; "to-morrow?"

"My dear sir, do not be in too great haste; I am not gifted with
miraculous powers. I will bring the boy here or take you to him within
two days, as I have agreed."

"Well, then, to-day is Tuesday. Will you have him here by Friday?
Friday morning?"

"By Friday afternoon, at any rate."

The old man was carefully wrapping up the articles he had exhibited,
and putting them back into his hand-bag. Finally, Burnham's attention
was attracted to this proceeding.

"Why," he exclaimed, "what are you doing? You have no right to those
things; they are mine."

"Oh no! they are mine. They shall be given to you some time perhaps;
but, for the present, they are mine."