Now the interest which old Mr. Dexter had betrayed while listening to
Laura’s story was in reality as nothing compared with that which he
felt, and when he reached his home that afternoon he seated himself by
the fire and fell into a condition of deep thought.
Mr. Van Kuren who called on him that evening found him in his parlor
busy with a number of old letters, papers and photographs which were
spread out on the table before him.
“You see,” he said as he rose to greet his guest, “that even here in
Paris, with enough to render most men contented, my thoughts go back to
my old friends and home in America. I don’t know whether I shall ever
return or not; but of late I have been thinking seriously of running
over to New York for a week or two to settle a little matter of business
that has been worrying me for a short time past.”
Mr. Dexter did not explain that the “short time past” meant only about
eight hours nor did he, of course, say what the matter was that troubled
him but his guest divined that it might be some family affair and asked
him if that were not the case.
“Well yes,” rejoined Mr. Dexter, “it is a family matter, and one that I
cannot settle very well by mail, though I might write my nephew and ask
him to attend to it for me.”
“Your nephew?” exclaimed Mr. Van Kuren, “why I was not aware that you
were even on speaking terms with him, and for my part I would not blame
you if you never have anything more to say to him.”
The older man looked up at his visitor, and said very gently and with
the same pleasant smile that always came into his face when he spoke to
either Harry or Laura, “My dear Horace, when you reach my age you will
be anxious to settle up all your earthly quarrels so that when the time
comes for you to leave this world you may do so with a feeling that you
leave no enemies behind.”
“But do you mean to tell me,” demanded Mr. Van Kuren, “that you have
become a friend of that good-for-nothing nephew of yours again? I can’t
understand it after the way in which he treated you ten years ago.”
“You must remember, Horace, that Sam is the only blood relation I have
left in this world. He came to see me a few months before I left
America, and I found him so regretful for the past, and so much changed
for the better that I have now fully as much confidence in him as I ever
had in my own son.”
Mr. Van Kuren shrugged his shoulders, and after a moment’s hesitation,
replied, “There’s nothing in the world that would induce me to place any
confidence whatever in Sam Dexter, even if he is your only blood
relation. It is entirely through him that the misunderstanding occurred
which separated us for years, and I have heard of him in New York of
late as connected with some very dubious enterprises.”
“But my dear Horace,” continued the old gentleman, “you must not believe
everything that you hear. I have no doubt that my nephew’s career has
not been altogether what it should have been; but that he is thoroughly
contrite now I have no reason to doubt. When he first came to see me I
supposed, of course, that he was in want of money again, and was
therefore inclined to be a little suspicious, but when he not only
assured me, but proved to me, that he had a handsome sum laid by out of
his savings for a future day, that he wanted nothing of me, and was only
anxious to heal up old breaches while I was still alive, then I was
forced to admit that he was, indeed, a different man from the one whom I
had known formerly.”
“Do you mean to say that he never tried to beg or borrow anything from
you, that is to say, since this last reconciliation?” demanded Mr. Van
Kuren, incredulously.
“I certainly do mean to say exactly that,” replied the other
emphatically. “He is occupying the old house at present but that is
because I asked him to do so. It is not safe to leave one’s home in the
hands of servants or caretakers.”
Mr. Van Kuren shrugged his shoulders again and remarked, in a tone that
showed he had no faith in the repentance or sincerity of Mr. Dexter’s
nephew: “Well, just mark my words, that man will still manage to injure
you in some way. He is not to be trusted.”
For a few moments the old gentleman sat quietly looking into the fire,
then he lifted his eyes and said, “I should be sorry to have as bad an
opinion of Sam as you have, but it may be that you are nearer right in
your estimate of him than I am. Nevertheless it’s an old man’s fancy,
and one that should be, for that reason, pardoned, to feel that after he
is gone he will be succeeded at his home and in his estate by one of his
own blood rather than by a stranger.”
“And so,” remarked Mr. Van Kuren dryly, “you have arranged to make Sam
your heir, have you?”
“Yes that is my present intention. As my will stands now, all my
property goes to my son and as he is dead, Sam as the next of kin would
inherit it anyway. Therefore I hardly think it necessary to write a new
one, but will destroy the old one, which will throw the property into
his hands.”
“And does he know this?” asked Mr. Van Kuren.
“I haven’t told him so in so many words, but I am sure he must know what
my intentions are. However he has never broached the topic to me and I
am bound to say that he seems to be thoroughly disinterested in his
regard for me.”
“In that case,” observed Mr. Van Kuren, watching his friend’s face
carefully as he spoke, “you had better write to him and ask him to
arrange this little family matter that troubles you. At any rate it will
save you the trouble of making a trip across the water. A journey at
your time of life and at this season of the year might be regarded as
almost unsafe.”
Mr. Dexter made no reply to this remark, and there was silence in the
room for fully a minute. Then he shook his head slowly, and said: “No, I
don’t exactly like to ask Sam to help me in this affair, and perhaps,
after all it would be better for me to write than to make the journey
myself.”
“My dear Mr. Dexter,” said Mr. Van Kuren, rising from his seat and
placing his hand on his old friends arm, “the mere fact that you do not
write to him in this matter is a proof that you do not fully trust him;
but don’t take the trip yourself. Write a letter; this is no season for
a man of your age to travel.”
Soon after this the visitor took his leave, and the old gentleman sat
down at his library table and addressed a polite and formal note to
Bruce Decker, telling him what he had learned from a mutual friend, and
asking him to send him full information concerning himself and his
family, adding that he very well remembered meeting him before, and
hoped that he was making progress in the calling which he had chosen.
Having sealed and addressed this letter he sat for some time lost in
reflection. Then taking up his pen again, he wrote another letter to the
man to whom Mr. Van Kuren had referred as “Sam.”
Both these letters reached New York on the same day, and were the cause
of the strange meeting of the two boys, which has been described in
another chapter. But in the letter to his kinsman, Sam, the old
gentleman did not reveal the address which Laura had given him.