Cornelius McCracken sat in his office in a complacent mood. He had just closed a successful speculation in Wall Street, by which he had cleared a few hundred dollars. He was not a rich man for the city, and this was of some consequence to him.

Then his mind could not help reverting to Bernard and the accident which had removed him from his path and averted all danger of restitution of the boy’s fortune. Truly all seemed favorable.

He heard a slight noise at the door, and lifting his eyes recognized with a scowl his old ally and confederate, Professor Puffer.

“What do you want here?” he demanded roughly. “I have no time for such as you.”

Professor Puffer entered the room, nevertheless, and sank into a chair.

“Mr. McCracken,” he said, “I am very unfortunate. I am reduced to the position of a sandwich man. I who have occupied the position of a gentleman.”

“What is that to me? It is an honest way of earning your living. You are lucky to find work at all.”

“I have given it up. I can’t stand it. Besides, I met yesterday afternoon a person whom I had known in happier and more prosperous days. I felt as if I should sink through the sidewalk.”

“I see—you are poor and proud,” sneered McCracken. “It is out of place in a man like you.”

“Mr. McCracken, can’t you help me? I have served you faithfully in a matter you know of.”

“And you have been paid.”

“But think how you have benefited. By the boy’s death you have fallen heir to his fortune, and——”

“Who told you he had a fortune?”

“You admitted it yourself in a conversation.”

“Well, it was very small—a few hundred dollars.”

“On that point I will not speak. Even admitting it to be only that, can’t you spare me a few dollars?”

“No, I can’t. Get out of my office!”

“Mr. McCracken,” said Puffer, changing his tone, “you have thrown me over because you think you don’t need me any more. Suppose now—only suppose—that a mistake had been made—that Bernard was not dead after all.”

“What do you mean?” demanded the merchant nervously. “You told me he was dead.”

“Suppose I was mistaken.”

“Then you deceived me basely. But you are only trying to play a trick on me. You have mistaken your man. Again I order you to leave my office.”

“I will do so, but I shall return.”

“If you do, you will be kicked out.”

Professor Puffer did not seem alarmed. He went out, closing the door behind him, and immediately afterwards Bernard opened it and went in.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” exclaimed McCracken angrily.

“No,” answered a young, fresh voice.

Mr. McCracken turned quickly and there stood Bernard Brooks. He had grown considerably; he was much improved in dress; but Mr. McCracken recognized him.

“I see you know me,” said Bernard.

“No, I don’t.”

“I think you do. I am Bernard Brooks.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“It was a mistake.”

“I am not prepared to admit your identity. You don’t look like Bernard Brooks.”

“I shall have no difficulty in proving myself to be your former ward.”.

“Well, what do you want? Do you wish to put yourself under my charge? In that case I will send you to Professor Snowdon.”

“No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

“I am willing. In that case I will bid you good morning. I am busy,” and Mr. McCracken made a motion to return to his writing.

“You asked me if I had any business with you. I have,” continued Bernard. “I wish you to give up the fortune my father left in your charge for me.”

“You lie! There was no such fortune. Some one has been deceiving you. Perhaps it is that arrant liar, Ezra Puffer.”

“Whom you hired to put me out of the way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. McCracken hoarsely,

“I have in my possession a letter which you wrote to him, from which it will be easy to prove your attempted crime and the motive.”

“There is no such letter. I never wrote one of that tenor.”

“It is in your handwriting.”

“Show it to me, then.”

“I can’t. It is in the hands of my lawyer.”

“You have dared to put it into the hands of a lawyer?”

“I felt that it was my best course.”

Cornelius McCracken’s countenance worked convulsively. He was beginning to be afraid of his ward.

“There was a matter of five hundred dollars,” he admitted reluctantly, “left over after my disbursements for you. I will at my leisure look over my accounts, and if there is any money due you, you shall have it.”

“I have made the acquaintance of Mr. Oliver Franklin, an old friend of my father. He tells a very different story. He says my father left at least ten thousand dollars.”

“Stuff and nonsense! You must be crazy.”

“I won’t discuss the question with you, Mr. McCracken. I have put the matter into the hands of a lawyer, who will see you about the matter. I only wished to give you notice what I intended doing. Good morning.”

Bernard left the office, leaving his guardian in no enviable state of mind. Without dwelling on the legal steps taken, it is enough to say that Mr. McCracken was ultimately compelled to disgorge twelve thousand dollars to his former ward.

Bernard and his English friend succeeded in obtaining for Professor Puffer a position as doorkeeper, in an art museum, which, on the whole, he preferred to being a sandwich man.

Before this law matter was terminated Bernard made up his mind to visit Doncaster and see his old friend and teacher, Professor Ezekiel Snowdon.