IT was about eight o'clock the next morning when Floyd waked. The first thing he saw was Pole seated in the window chewing tobacco. He was fully dressed, had shaved, and wore a new white shirt and collar that glistened like porcelain in the morning sun; he had on also a new black cravat which he had tied very clumsily.

“Good gracious, have you been waiting for me?” Floyd cried, as he sprang out of bed and looked at his watch.

“Not much I hain't,” the mountaineer smiled. “I was up at my usual time, at sunrise. I struck a restaurant and got me some fried eggs an' coffee, an' then walked half over this dern town.”

“Well, I'm sorry you've had your breakfast,” Floyd said, “for I wanted you to go down with me.”

“No, thankee”—Pole shrugged his shoulders and smiled—“I tried that last night in yore place, an' thar was so many niggers in burial suits standin' round that big room that it looked like resurrection day in a coon graveyard. The damned idiots stared at me as ef they thought I'd blowed in off'n a load o' hay. They passed me from one to t'other like coals o' fire on a shovel till they landed me in a corner whar nobody wouldn't see me.”

Floyd laughed. “You are all right, Pole; don't you ever let that fact escape you.”

“Do you think so, Nelson? Well, anyway, a biggity nigger waiter tried to take me down once when I was here, about a year ago. I'd heard a good deal o' talk about that fine eatin'-room down the street whar only the big Ikes git the'r grub, an', wantin' a snack, I drapped in an' hung up my hat. The head coon tuck me to a table whar some other fellows was eatin', an' another one made me a present of a handkerchief an' shoved a card under my nose. The card had lots o' Dutch on it, an' I was kinder flustered, but as the nigger looked like he understood our language, I told 'im to never mind the printin' but to fetch me two fried eggs an' a cup o' coffee an' free bread, ef he had it, an' ef not to charge it in the bill. Well, sir, after I'd give the order, the coon still stood thar, tryin' his level best to turn up his flat nose; so I axed 'im what he was waitin' fer, an' he sneered an' axed me ef that was all I expected to eat. I told 'im it was, an', with a grin at the coon at the next table, he shuffled off. Well, you know, I was hot under the collar, an' I seed that the other men at the table looked like they was with me, though they didn't chip in. Purty soon my waiter come back with my order, an', with a sniff, he set it down. It looked like he thought jest to be a lackey in a fine house like that was next to wearin' wings an' flyin' over golden streets. He axed me ag'in ef that was all I wanted, an' when I said it was he give another sniff, an' drawed out a pad an' writ down twenty-five cents on it in great big figures, an' tore off the leaf an' drapped it in front o' my plate. 'Mighty small bill,' he said. 'Yes,' said I, 'that order 'ud 'a' cost fifty cents in a fust-class place, but I was busy an' didn't have time to go any furder.' Well, sir, them men in front o' me jest hollered. They banged on the table with the'r knives an' plates, an' yelled till everybody in the room stood up to see what was the matter. One big, fat, jolly-faced man with a red, bushy mustache in front of me re'ched his paw clean across the table an' said: 'Put 'er thar, white man; damn it, put 'er thar!' I tuck a drink with 'im when we went out. He tried to buy me a five-dollar hat to remember 'im by, but I wouldn't take it.”

Floyd laughed heartily. He had finished dressing. “Did you finally get it settled in your mind, Pole, why that old man didn't want to take my check last night?”

“Thar's a lots o' things I've got to git settled in my mind,” was the somewhat evasive reply. “I told you I was goin' to take the ten-thirty train fer Darley, but I ain't a-goin' a step till I've seed a little furder into this business. Looky' here, Nelson Floyd, fer a man that's had as much dealin's with men in all sorts o' ways as you have, you are a-actin' quar.”

“I don't understand you.” Floyd had put his hand on the latch to open the door, but, seeing his friend's serious face, he went back to the window wondering what Pole was driving at.

“You say,” said Pole, “that Henry A. Floyd came into his plantation at his daddy's death?”

“That's my impression, Pole.”

The mountaineer went to the cuspidor near the washstand and spat deliberately into it; then he came back wiping his lips on his long hand.

“An' when the old man died he jest had two sons—yore daddy an' this one here?” Pole said, tentatively, his heavy brows drawn together.

“Yes, that's right, Pole.”

“Well, Nelson”—the mountaineer was staring steadily at his friend—“I make a rule never to judge a person too quick, but whar I see a motive fer evil in a man that ain't plumb straight, I generally find some'n' crooked.”

“I'm sure I don't understand you, Pole,” Floyd said, his eyes wide in curiosity.

Pole stepped near to Floyd and laid his hand on his arm.

“Do you mean to tell me, as keen and sharp as you are, that you tuck that old skunk's word about a matter as important as that is, when he come into property from yore granddaddy—property that 'ud be part yore'n as his brother's son? Shucks! I'm jest a mountain scrub, but I ain't as big a fool as that.

“Oh, I know!” said Floyd, wearily. “I suppose you are right, but I don't care to go to law about a little handful of property like that; besides, you know it would be my interest only in case I was a lawful heir—don't forget that damnable fact, Pole.”

“I'm not thinkin' about the value of property, nuther,” said Baker; “but, my boy, I am lookin' fer a motive—a motive fer rascality, an' I think I've found one as big as a barn. I don't any more believe that dirty tale old Floyd told you than I'd believe it about my old saint of a mother.”

“But you don't know what he showed me, Pole,” Floyd sighed. “I never had the heart to go over it thoroughly, but it was conclusive enough to draw a black curtain over my whole life.”

“I don't care, Nelson,” Pole said, warmly. “I don't give a damn what he said, or showed you. Thar's a big, rotten stench in Denmark, I'm here to tell you; an' ef I don't squeeze the truth out o' that old turnip before night I'll eat my hat. You go on an' git yore breakfast, an' let me map out—”

There was rap on the door. Floyd opened it. A negro porter in uniform stood on the threshold.

“A man down-stairs wants to see you, Mr. Floyd,” he announced.

“Did he give his name?” Nelson asked.

“No, sir, he didn't.”

“He's an old, white-headed, dingy-faced fellow, ain't he?” Pole put in.

“Yes, sir,” answered the servant. “He looks like he's sick.”

“Well, you tell 'im to come up here,” said Pole, his face rigid, and his eyes gleaming triumphantly. When the negro had gone the two friends stood facing each other. “Nelson, my boy,” Pole said, tremulously, “I'm goin' to stroll outside down the hall. I'd bet a full-blooded Kentucky mare to a five-cent ginger-cake that you can run this whole rotten business up a tree if you will play your cards exactly right. Looky' here, Nelson, I've changed my mind about goin' out o' this room. Thar's entirely too much at stake to leave you with the reins to hold. You are too touchy on a certain delicate subject—you'll take a lot o' guff rather than ask questions. I wish you'd go out and let me meet that man fust.”

“I'll do anything you suggest, Pole,” Floyd declared, his face twitching sensitively.

“Well, you skoot into that empty room next door. I seed it open when I come up. Let me have the old codger to myself fer jest five minutes and then I'll turn 'im over to you. Hurry up! I don't want 'im to see you here.”

Floyd acted instantly, Pole heard the door of the adjoining room close just as the elevator stopped at the floor they were on.

“Good,” he ejaculated. He threw himself back in a chair and had just picked up a newspaper when old Floyd cautiously peered in at the half-open door.

“Come in, come in, Mr. Floyd,” Pole said, cordially. “Early bird, ain't you?”

“They told me Mr. Floyd was here,” the old man said, awkwardly, as he stepped inside and glanced around the room. He was, in the open daylight, even paler and more despondent-looking than he had appeared the previous evening. In his hand he held Nelson's check folded and clutched tightly.

“He's jest gone out,” Pole said, indicating a chair, “set down; he'll be back here in a minute.”

“I—I thought he was up here alone,” the old man stammered.

“Oh, it don't make no difference,” Pole smiled, easily, “me'n' Nelson's jest like two brothers. You see, what one knows the other does. The truth is, me'n' him work together, Mr. Floyd, an' I've been investigatin' that case about his mammy an' daddy fer sometime. I run the whole thing down yesterday, an' come in an' told 'im about it last night after he'd got back from yore house. By gum! the boy broke down an' cried like a child fer pure joy. It would 'a' done you good to 'a' seed 'im. That was an' awfully nasty thing fer a proud young sperit to stand up under, an' you bet gittin' it off was a relief.”

“You mean—” The old man sank heavily into a chair, but he could go no further. He stared helplessly into Pole's inscrutable face, and then his shifting eyes fell guiltily.

“Why, you see,” Pole smiled, plausibly; “all I wanted was a clew to start from, an' after nosin' about whar Nelson's daddy had lived I at last discovered that he was part heir to that property o' yore'n, then, you see, the whole shootin'-match was as clear as a wart on the side of my own nose. The next discovery was the marriage record, an' then I had the whole thing in apple-pie order. You needn't set thar an' look scared out o' yore skin, Mr. Floyd. Nelson 'ud have his right arm sawed off at the shoulder-joint rather'n prosecute you. He told me last night that he'd stand by you. He's got money to burn, an' he'll never let his daddy's brother suffer. He told me jest this mornin'—'Pole,' said he, 'I don't believe Uncle Henry would 'a' kept this back so long ef he hadn't been mighty nigh out o' his head with his own troubles.”

“God knows I wouldn't! God knows that!” sobbed the old man, impulsively. “I meant to tell him the truth the day I met you and told you he was my nephew, but I had a sick spell, and I got to worrying about the little all I had for my old age. I thought you were prying into matters, too, and knew that any question about the titles would make my creditors jump on me, and—”

“I see, I see!” said Pole. Indifference was in his voice, but his rugged face was afire, his great, eager eyes were illumined by a blaze of triumph. “I reckon the proof you showed him was forgery, Mr. Floyd, but of a harmless kind that most any man in trouble naturally would—”

“No, those letters were not forgeries,” broke in the old man. “They were really my brother's, but they related to his life with another woman. When their child died, she deserted him for another man. My brother came home broken-hearted, but he finally got over it, and married a nice girl of good family. She was Nelson's mother. In my great trouble, and facing ruin, it struck me that the letters would convince the boy and he would keep quiet and not put in a claim until—until I could see my way out—but now, you say he knows it all.”

“Yes, an' is so happy over it, Mr. Floyd, that instead o' givin' you trouble, he'll throw his arms around you. God bless you, old hoss, you've been denyin' the finest member yore family ever had. I reckon you can turn over to him sufficient proof”—Pole drew himself up with a start—“proof, I mean, that will, you see, sort o' splice in with all I've run up on—proof that he is legally yore nephew.”

“Oh, plenty!” the old man said, almost eagerly; “and I'll get it up at once. I've brought his check back,” he unfolded it and held it in his quivering hands. “I couldn't take money from him after treating him as I have.”

Pole laughed outright. “You keep that check, old man,” he said. “Nelson Floyd will cram it down yore throat ef you won't take it any other way. I tell you he's jest tickled to death. He thinks the world and all of you because you are the only kin he ever laid eyes on. Now, you stay right whar you are an' I'll send 'im to you. He's not fur off.”

Hurrying into the next room, Pole saw Floyd standing at a window looking out into the street, a touch of his old despondency on him. He caught Pole's triumphant smile and stood with lips parted in suspense.

“It's jest as I told you, my boy,” the mountaineer said, with a chuckle. “He's owned up to the whole blasted thing. You've got as good a right to vote in America as any man in it.”

“Good God, Pole, you don't mean—”

“You go in thar an' he'll tell you all about it.” Pole continued to smile.

“You say he has actually confessed of his own accord?” Floyd cried, incredulously.

“Well, I did sorter have to lead 'im along a little,” Pole laughed. “To unlock his jaws, I told 'im me 'n' you already knowed the facts, so you might as well take that stand, give 'im plenty o' rope an' let 'im tell you all about it. But don't be hard on 'im, Nelson; the pore old cuss wanted to do the fair thing but was pressed to the wall by circumstances an' devilish men.”

“Thank God, Pole, thank God!” Floyd cried. “I can hardly believe it's true.”

“Well, it is, all right enough,” Baker assured him. “Now, I'm goin' to catch the ten-thirty train. I want to git home before you do, an' git this thing circulated—so nobody won't snub you an' feel bad about it afterwards. I'll strike old Mrs. Snodgrass the fust thing. She is editor of the Hill-top Whirlwind, an' will have an extra out ten minutes after I land containin' full particulars. Fer once I'm goin' to put her to a good use. She'll certainly make the rounds, an' as I don't want the old thing to walk 'er props off, I'll lend 'er a hoss. But I'll tell you what I'd like fer you to do, Nelson, an' I almost ax it as a favor.”

“What's that, Pole?”

“Why, I want you to take that old chap under yore wing to-day an' git 'im out o' the clutch o' them shyster lawyers that's got 'im scared to death.”

“You may rest assured that I'll do that,” Floyd said, as he hurried away.

A moment later, as Pole was passing Nelson's room to reach the main stairway, he glanced through the open door. Old Floyd sat with bowed head, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief, and his nephew stood by him, his hand resting on his shoulder.