Sharpman drew a well-filled wallet from his pocket, took two bills
from it, folded them together, and placed them into Craft's trembling
fingers. "There," he said, "that's all right; we won't say anything
about that till we come into our fortune."

Old Simon pocketed the money, mumbling his thanks as he did so. The
two men shook hands again at the outer door, and Craft trudged down
the avenue, toward the railroad station, his mind filled with visions
of enormous wealth, but his patience sorely tried by the long delay
that he must suffer before his fingers should close upon the promised
money.

Sharpman returned to his office to congratulate himself upon the happy
chance that had placed so rich an opportunity within his grasp. If the
old man's story were true--he proposed to take steps immediately to
satisfy himself upon that point--then he saw no reason why he should
not have the management of a large estate. Of course there would be
opposition, but if he could succeed so far as to get the funds and the
property into his hands, he felt sure that, in one way or another, he
could make a fortune out of the estate before he should be compelled
to relinquish his hold. As for Simon Craft, he should use him so
far as such use was necessary for the accomplishment of his object.
After that he would or would not keep faith with him, as he chose.
And as for Ralph, if he were really Robert Burnham's son, he would
be rich enough at any rate, and if he were not that son he would
not be entitled to wealth. There was no use, therefore, in being
over-conscientious on his account.

It was a brilliant scheme, worth risking a great deal on, both of