The old man, his month wide open in astonishment and dismay, presented a ludicrous spectacle. At first he seemed to be incapable of speech, but he managed to ejaculate, feebly:

“‘Tain’t so—’tain’t so!”

“You will find that it is so, Mr. Starr,” said Andy, firmly, “and that your wicked attempt to cheat my mother out of more than a hundred dollars has failed.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Joshua Starr, nervously; but his voice showed that he did believe it, nevertheless.

He had the best reason for knowing that such a receipt had been signed, but he had reckoned on its being lost or permanently mislaid.

The lawyer was not sure in his own mind whether Andy was not deceiving them, and determined to find out.

“These are bold words, boy,” he said. “We shall not believe in this receipt you talk about till you show it.”

“Mr. Starr believes in it,” retorted Andy, “for he knows very well he signed it; but he thought it was lost.”

“I demand to see the receipt,” said the lawyer.

“Very well; you shall see it,” assented Andy.

He drew a wallet from his pocket, and, taking out a folded piece of paper, handed it to the lawyer.

“Let me see it,” said Mr. Starr; but there was a cunning look in his eyes which made Andy distrustful.

“I object to his taking it,” interposed our hero.

“I don’t believe it’s genewine,” whined old Joshua. “It’s a base attempt to cheat me out of my money.”

“You’d better not talk about that, Mr. Starr,” said Andy.

“Lemme see it.”

“He has a right to see it,” said Mr. Ross; but he spoke in a quiet tone, for he saw that it would injure his professional reputation to involve himself in an evident attempt at swindling.

Joshua Starr took the paper in his hand, and gazed at it in a dazed way.

“The signatoor don’t look genewine,” he said, weakly.

Now it chanced that Mr. Starr’s signature was very peculiar—remarkable chiefly for its being a miserable scrawl.

“Doesn’t it look like your writing?” said Andy.

“Well, mebbe it is, a little; but I guess it’s a forgery. I dunno but you wrote it yourself, Andy.”

“Do you believe that, Mr. Ross?” asked Andy, plainly.

“No,” said the lawyer, with a glance of contempt at his client. “I believe it is Mr. Starr’s signature.”

Old Joshua’s lower jaw dropped.

“You ain’t a-goin’ to desert me, squire, are you?”

As he spoke, he cunningly let go the receipt, giving it an impulse toward the open fireplace, where a fire was burning.

Andy, however, was on the watch, and he sprang forward and rescued the valuable document.

“What are you trying to do, Mr. Starr?” he demanded, sternly.

“Nothing—it slipped,” answered the old man, crestfallen.

Though Mr. Ross was disappointed that he was unable to injure the Gordons by the agency of Mr. Starr, he felt that he could not afford to be implicated in the rascality which his client had attempted in his presence.

“Mrs. Gordon,” he said, rising from his chair, “you will do me the justice to believe that I had no knowledge of the existence of this receipt. I supposed Mr. Starr’s claim was a genuine one, or I would not have meddled with it. It is not my intention to aid and abet rascality.”

“You don’t mean me, do you, squire?” asked Joshua Starr, gazing in consternation at the lawyer.

“Yes, I do!” returned the lawyer, severely.

“There’s a mistake, squire. I’m almost sure that signatoor ain’t genewine.”

“And I am sure that it is,” said the lawyer, curtly. “You needn’t bring me any more of your business, Mr. Starr.”

He strode out of the cottage, with a look of utter disgust on his face.

“I don’t see what’s the matter with the squire,” said the old man. “He hadn’t ought to leave me that way.”

“Have you got any more business with us, Mr. Starr?” asked Andy.

“No—not as I know on. It’s pretty hard for me to lose all that money.”

“You can try to cheat somebody else out of it,” said Andy, coolly. “I wouldn’t advise you to try us again.”

“You’re a cur’us boy, Andy,” said the old man, as he slowly rose and hobbled off, disappointed.

When Mr. Ross reached home, he found his son Herbert waiting eagerly to interview him.

Herbert knew that his father had set out with Mr. Starr for Andy Gordon’s cottage, and he was anxious to hear just what passed, and whether Andy wasn’t mortified and distressed.

“You’ve got back, pa?” said Herbert, by way of opening the conversation.

“Yes, I’ve got back!” said Mr. Ross, gruffly.

“I suppose Andy wasn’t very glad to see you?” chuckled Herbert.

“It didn’t seem to trouble him much,” said the lawyer, curtly.

“He wasn’t ready to pay the note, was he?” asked Herbert, in alarm.

“No.”

Herbert felt relieved.

“I thought he couldn’t raise the money,” he said, triumphantly. “It was over a hundred dollars, wasn’t it?”

The lawyer had been so much annoyed that he enjoyed the disappointment in store for his son, on the principle that misery loves company.

“There was no need of his having any money ready,” he said.

“Mr. Starr hasn’t excused him from paying it, has he?” inquired Herbert, anxiously.

“Mr. Starr is an old scoundrel!” exclaimed Mr. Ross, impetuously.

Herbert was petrified with astonishment at hearing his father speak thus of his client.

“Do you really mean it?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yes, I mean it.”

“What has he done?”

“The note had been paid years ago, and he wanted to get it paid over again, and asked me to help him,” said the lawyer, with virtuous indignation.

“Then he can’t collect pay?” asked Herbert.

“Of course he can’t. How many times do you think a man is bound to pay a note?”

Herbert was not pleased with the way things had turned out, and he was puzzled at the remarkable change which had taken place in his father.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “you won’t get anything for what you have done in the matter?”

The lawyer’s eyes flashed. Here, at least, was a chance to get even with the old cheat, as he now denominated Mr. Starr. The next morning he sent a bill to Joshua Starr for professional services, setting the sum at fifteen dollars. This quickly brought the old man around to his office, in terrible dismay.

“You ain’t in earnest, squire?” he said.

“About what?”

“About this bill.”

“Mr. Starr, do you suppose I work for nothing?”

“But you didn’t collect any money for me, squire.”

“And whose fault was that, I’d like to know?” retorted the lawyer. “It appears that your claim was fraudulent—fraudulent, Mr. Starr!”

Mr. Joshua Starr cared very little about the damage to his reputation arising from detection in such a dirty trick, but he cared a great deal about the fifteen dollars.

“It ain’t right for you to ask it, squire. You didn’t do me a mite of good.”

“What business had you to obtain my help in such a scandalous fraud?”

“Suppose we call it even, squire. You ain’t succeeded, and——”

“I shall succeed in this, Mr. Starr. That bill must be paid.”

“I won’t pay it!” said the old man, obdurately.

“You won’t, eh? Then I’ll attach your farm.”

Finally Joshua Starr had to pay the lawyer’s charge, and I think the verdict of my young readers will be: “Served him right.”

Two days afterward, to the astonishment of every one except his mother and Dr. Euclid, whom he took into his confidence, Andy Gordon left Hamilton, and was not seen in the village again for several weeks.

Where he went, and what he did, will be explained in succeeding chapters.