view of him was to be obtained, and though Ebenezer had ventured to term the youth hulking, there were few who would have agreed with him; for David Harbor was slim, if anything, and, as well as it is possible to judge of a youth when mounted, of a good height. One thing was very certain; he sat his horse splendidly, as if accustomed to the saddle, and though the animal was without doubt spirited, as he proved now that he was on the gravelled drive by curvetting and prancing, David managed him with hand and knee and voice as only an accomplished horseman can do. For the rest, the youth seemed to be some eighteen years of age, was decidedly fair, and by no means ill-looking. Even as Ebenezer regarded him with a scowl David wore a sunny smile, unconscious of the unfriendly eyes that were scrutinising him. But a second later he caught a view of Mr. Ebenezer, and at once the young face became serious and thoughtful, while David returned the scrutiny with an honest glance that caused the other to turn hastily away.
'A hulking lout is what I call him, and Sarah agrees,' muttered Ebenezer. 'That is a comfort. When I married her I had fears that this stepson of hers might create trouble between us. But I was wrong; Sarah thinks as little of him as I do. We'll soon send him about his business; then there'll be no riding of fine horses, or idling the hours away if I know it. David shall work for his living, as I had to. He shall learn what it is to be pinched, and then, if he does not behave himself, he'll be thrown completely on his own resources. What luck that old Harbor left things as he did!'
'Looks as if he'd like to eat me,' was the remark David made to himself as he rode round to the stables. 'I've seen a row coming these past two weeks since he and mother came back home. He doesn't like me any better than – but there, I'll not say it. Only I've a feeling that I'm not wanted here. I'm in the way; I'm expensive. My living costs money; that's what I'm being rapidly made to feel.'
He slid from his saddle, unbuckled the girths, and having placed it on a wooden horse outside the harness room, led the beast into the stable. Within five minutes of his disappearance there a cab drove up to the door, and Mr. Edwin Jones, the solicitor, was announced. At once he was ushered into Mr. Ebenezer's room, and was presently seated in an arm-chair. From that point of vantage he surreptitiously scrutinised Mr. Ebenezer.
'Queer old boy,' he told himself. 'Lor', what a nose! And I don't like his looks altogether. But then, he's a client; that's sufficient for me. Ahem!'
Mr. Ebenezer picked up the letter which had attracted so much of his attention.
'I wanted to ask some questions,' he said. 'There is now, I presume, no further doubt as to this matter. Mrs. Clayhill is entitled to proceed with the will left in your possession by Mr. Harbor?'
'Ahem! that is so,' admitted the solicitor. 'As mentioned in our letter, and carrying out your instructions, we applied to the courts, and the judge before whom the matter came has gone into the evidence fully, and has given leave to presume Mr. Harbor's death. That being so, the way is clear to prove the will and obtain probate. There can be no hitch, unless, of course, ahem! – unless another later will is forthcoming.'
'Quite so, quite so,' exclaimed Mr. Ebenezer, hurriedly, 'But there is no other will. Mr. Harbor left England three years ago for China. You are aware that he was fond of unearthing old matters dealing with buildings and objets d'art. He was attacked by Boxers and killed. He executed this will two years previously, on his marriage to Mrs. Clayhill, and, undoubtedly, he saw no reason to alter it.'
'Of course not, of course not,' came from the solicitor. 'Only, there is the son. This will leaves a small sum for his maintenance and schooling up to the age of twenty-one. Afterwards he comes in for two thousand pounds. Not much, Mr. Clayhill, for an only child, when the estate is so large, roughly eighty thousand pounds.'
The gentleman who was seated in the arm-chair coughed deprecatingly, and glanced swiftly across at Mr. Ebenezer. He did not like the ugly frown which showed on his client's face, as he surveyed him.
'Glad I'm not David,' he told himself. 'And from what I have learned I can't help feeling that Mr. Harbor must have executed a later will. But there you are; it is not to be found. We have no information about it, while our late client is undoubtedly dead, killed out in China. It's bad luck for David; I like the boy.'
'Perhaps,' he said, a moment later, 'you will obtain Mrs. Clayhill's signatures to these documents, when we can at once set about proving the will. As I am nominated as co-executor with Mrs. Clayhill, I can complete them when I return to the office. I shall of course leave the payment of David's allowance to Mrs. Clayhill.'
Mr. Ebenezer beamed when at length his visitor had gone. He rubbed his hands together craftily, and then blew his enormous nose violently.
'Well, Sarah, what do you think of that?' he asked, looking across at Mrs. Clayhill, who had joined him in his room. 'The matter is practically finished. The will is to be proved in the course of a few weeks, and then we can settle down. There will be no questions to ask, and none to answer.'
'And so far as I am concerned, no answers forthcoming,' replied his wife. 'After all, it is true that Edward wrote to me from China just before his death, saying that he was settling his affairs again, in other words that he was making a new will. But what is the good of mentioning that? If he did as he intimated, no new will has been found. Besides, I have reason to know that any alteration would not have been to my benefit. Edward had of late been a worry to me.'
At the back of her mind Mrs. Clayhill remembered how she had come to marry Edward Harbor. He was then forty years of age, and possessed of one boy, David. His wife had died some years before, and there was no doubt that Edward in selecting his second wife had chosen one whom he imagined would willingly travel with him. But, after a year or more of life in England, Mrs. Clayhill had resolutely refused to stir a foot out of the country. Edward, to his great sorrow, had to go alone, leaving David in his wife's charge. Moreover, there was little doubt but that once her husband was out of sight, Mrs. Clayhill had endeavoured to forget him, and that with some success, so that Edward received only the most fragmentary letters, with long intervals between. Taking all the circumstances into consideration, it was but natural that Edward Harbor, smarting under the treatment meeted out to him by a wife, to whom at the time of their marriage he had willed almost all his possessions, should have made drastic alterations. Let us say at once that he had made a new will, only the latter, owing to his untimely death, had never reached the hands of his solicitors. Nor was there any record of it in China. Mrs. Clayhill, it seemed, was the only one who knew that a change had been made, and she had craftily not uttered a word on the subject. So it happened that David was to be robbed of his father's possessions, while his stepmother, who had disliked the lad from the beginning, with Mr. Clayhill, the husband she had acquired after the death of Mr. Harbor, were to come in for all the money, knowing all the while that, though such a step was legal, it did not represent Edward Harbor's wishes.
'And the boy – what of him?' asked Mrs. Clayhill tartly.
Ebenezer grinned; matters were going splendidly for him. 'Oh, David,' he said. 'He's got to learn what it is to work; I'll send him up to a city firm. No more idling or riding blood horses for him, my dear.'
It was a heartless arrangement, and one is bound to admit, from the acquaintance we have already of Mr. Ebenezer, it was to be expected of him. As for Mrs. Clayhill, though boasting some attractions, she was not, as the reader will have guessed, a fascinating woman. Where David was concerned she could be a dragon, and we are stating but the truth when we say that, for the past three years, the lad had been glad to return to school to escape from a home which was that only in name to him.
'Ah, there he is,' suddenly exclaimed Mr. Ebenezer, as a heavy foot was heard in the hall, while, within a second, the door of the room was flung unceremoniously open, and David entered.
'Helloo!' he cried, cheerily. 'I'm after a book. Disturbed you, eh? Sorry.'
He turned on
