"But you could have found it out. You had plenty of chances."
"No more chances than Gus had."
"Pooh! Don't tell me that!"
"It's the truth."
"My son is not on a level with you."
"I always considered myself as good as he is," I returned warmly.
"My son is not a thief."
"Neither am I, Uncle Felix; and what is more, I won't let you or any other man say so," I declared.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked curiously.
"I won't stand it, that's all."
"Do you know that I intend to have you arrested if you don't return what you have stolen?"
"If you have me arrested I will do all I can to defend myself," was my answer. "If I am brought before the judge perhaps I will have one or two things to say that you will not relish."
"What do you mean?"
"There will be time enough to speak when I am brought into court."
"You think you are smart, Luke, but you are nothing but a fool. What can you say against me?"
"A good many things that you don't dream of. You are not treating me rightly, and you know it. You don't give me decent clothing to wear, and I have to work harder than any one in the office. I am sure my father never intended such a future for his son."
"I don't care what you father intended!" he snarled.
"But I do, and what is more, I intend, sooner or later, to try to have matters mended. My father always told me he wished me to keep on going to school and then to enter Princeton."
"Never mind, I am your guardian now, and I know what is best for you."
"How much money did my father leave me?" I asked, with considerable curiosity.
"None of your business."
"Oh, but it is my business."
"It is not your business, and I want you to shut up!" he cried, in a rage. "He left little enough."
"Little enough," I cried. "My father was rich."
"He was at one time; but he lost the most of his fortune in stocks just before he died. You have hardly enough to keep you until you are twenty-one."
I must confess that my uncle's remarks were quite a shock to me. I had always supposed that I would some day be wealthy. I gave the matter a moment's thought, and then came to the conclusion that Mr. Stillwell was not telling the truth.
"How much money did my father leave?" I repeated. "I am entitled to know."
"You will know when I get ready to tell you, not before."
"Perhaps you are mistaken," said I. "And another thing, Uncle Felix, how is it that you were appointed my guardian?"
At these words I fancied my uncle turned pale. He sprang towards me, then stopped short.
"What do you mean by that question?" he demanded.
"I mean why were you made my guardian when my father and you were not on good terms?"
"Pooh, that quarrel was of no consequence," was the lofty reply. "Your father could not find a better person in which to trust his son's care."
I had my own opinion on that point, but did not find it fit to say so. Then I put in what I thought was a master stroke.
"I thought Mr. Banker was to be my guardian."
At these words Mr. Stillwell turned even paler than before, and his hand trembled as he pointed his long finger at me in a threatening manner.
"You think too much!" he growled.
"Are you going to answer that question?"
"What put it into your head?"
"Never mind."
"Has John Banker been writing to you about it?"
In spite of his effort to ask the question unconcernedly I could see that my uncle was tremendously interested. Like a flash it came over me that perhaps this was one of the reasons he did not wish me to spend any time at Harry Banker's home. Mr. Banker might take it into his head to ask me how I was being treated, and that might lead to trouble.
"Never mind; but I'm going to find out before long."
"And you are going to prison before long, unless you hand over what you took from the safe."
"I am not afraid of you, Mr. Stillwell. I have always done right. But I'm going to know something about myself, and soon. I have a letter in my pocket that tells me that Mr. Banker was to be my guardian, and I'm going to know why he is not."
Mr. Stillwell glared at me. If he could have eaten me up I believe he would have done so.
"You have a letter?" he cried hoarsely. "Who from?"
"That is my business."
"And I'll make it mine. Hand it over this instant!"
"Not much."
"I say you will."
"And I say no."
I was sorry I had spoken of the letter. I could readily see that it had worked Mr. Stillwell up to a fever heat.
"Give me that letter, Luke. I'll stand no more fooling."
Once more my uncle bore down upon me. But I saw him coming, and shoved the chair in his way.
I still held the ruler in my hand, and now brandished it over my head.
"Don't come any closer!" I cried. "If you do I'll crack you on the head!"
My uncle was too enraged to pay attention to my words. He hurled the chair aside and sprang upon me as a wild beast springs upon its prey.
"We'll see who is master!" he panted.
In another instant he had me by the throat. His grasp was that of a band of steel, and I thought for a surety my last hour had come.
"Let – let go!" I gasped.
"Will you give me the letter?"
My only reply was to struggle with all my strength. In a moment we were both on the floor.
"Help! Help!" I cried.
"Shut up!" he exclaimed, and tried to close my mouth with his hand.
"I won't shut up! Let me up! Help!"
But now my voice was fainter. It was all I could do to get my breath. The room swam round and round before my eyes.
"Give up that letter and the money and papers you took!"
"Help! Help! – "
I could cry no longer. My senses were fast leaving me. Would no one come to my assistance?
"We'll see who is master! If you don't give – "
My uncle did not finish his speech, for at that instant the door was flung open, and a tall, powerful man stood in the doorway.
"Here! let up there!" he commanded. "What are you doing, Stillwell? Who's that on the floor? Great buckwheat, if it ain't Luke Foster!"
I listened in amazement as well as delight. The newcomer was Mr. John Banker!
CHAPTER V
AN APPALLING PROSPECT
Never was an arrival more opportune than when Mr. John Banker stepped into the private office. I fully believe had he come a moment later he would have found me insensible. As it was it took me several seconds to recover my breath.
"John Banker!" ejaculated my uncle, and every line of his features told of his discomfiture.
"What are you doing with Luke?" went on Harry's father. "Let him up."
"None of your business!" growled my uncle.
"I think it is. Luke, get up."
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