hints elsewhere, he might make trouble, and lead to a legal investigation, which Mr. Manning had every reason to dread.
"This is very foolish," he said, more mildly. "No doubt you are disappointed, but probably your mother has provided wisely. You will want for nothing, and you will be prepared for the responsibilities of manhood under my auspices."
Mr. Manning's face assumed a look of self-complacence as he uttered these last words.
"I have no blame to cast upon my dear mother," said Frank. "If she made that will, she acted under a great mistake."
"What mistake, sir?"
"She failed to understand you."
"Do you mean to imply that I shall be false to my trust?"
"Not at present, sir. I don't wish to judge of you too hastily."
As the boy turned to go, he said. "I have nothing further to say, sir."
"But I have," said Mr. Manning.
"Very well, sir."
"I demand that you treat my son Mark with suitable respect, and forbear to infringe upon his rights."
Frank looked up, and answered, with spirit: "I shall treat Mark as well as he treats me, sir. Is that satisfactory?"
"I apprehend," said Mr. Manning, "that you may make some mistakes upon that point."
"I will try not to do so, sir."
Frank left the room, and this time was not called back.
His stepfather looked after him, but his face expressed neither friendliness nor satisfaction.
"That boy requires taming," he said to himself. "He is going to make trouble. I must consider what I will do with him."
As Mr. Manning reviewed Frank's words, there was one thing which especially disturbed him—the doubt expressed by his stepson as to his mother's having actually made the will.
He saw that it would not do for him to go too far in his persecution of Frank as it might drive the latter to consult a lawyer in regard to the validity of the will by which he had been disinherited.
Frank rather gloomily made his way to the stable. As he reached it, Richard Green came out.
"I'm sorry for you, Mr. Frank. But your mother was a saint. She was too good to suspect the badness of others, Mr. Frank. She thought old Manning was really all that he pretended to be, and that he would be as kind to you as she was herself. When she was alive, he was always as soft as—as silk."
"His manner has changed now," said Frank, gravely. "Excuse me, Richard, for finding fault with you, but don't call him old Manning."
"Why not, Mr. Frank?"
"I have no liking for Mr. Manning—in fact, I dislike him—but he was the husband of my mother, and I prefer to speak of him respectfully."
"I dare say you are right, Mr. Frank, but, all the same, he don't deserve it. Is Mr. Mark to ride Ajax then?"
"If he asks for it, you are to saddle Ajax for him. I don't want you to get into any trouble with Mr. Manning on my account."
"I don't care for that, Mr. Frank. I can get another place, and I don't much care to serve Mr. Manning."
"I would rather you would stay, if you can, Richard. I don't want to see a new face in the stable."
"I don't think he means to keep me long, Mr. Frank. Deborah and I will have to go, I expect, and he'll get some servants of his own here."
"Has he hinted anything of this, Richard?" asked Frank, quickly.
"No; but he will soon, you may depend on it. I won't lose sight of you, though. I've known you since you were four years old, and I won't desert you, if I can do any good—nor Deborah, either."
"I have two friends, then, at any rate," said Frank to himself. "That is something."
CHAPTER VII
A SCHOOL FRIEND
Early Monday morning it had been the custom for Frank and Mark to take the train for Bridgeville, to enter upon a new week at the academy.
Frank felt that it would be better for him to go back without any further vacation, as occupation would serve to keep him from brooding over his loss.
"Are you ready, Mark?" he asked, as he rose from the breakfast table.
"Ready for what?"
"To go back to school, of course."
"I am not going back this morning," answered Mark.
"Why not?" asked Frank, in some surprise.
"I am going to stay at home to help father," said Mark, with a glance at Mr. Manning.
"If I can be of any service to you, sir, I will stay, too," said Frank, politely.
"Thank you, but Mark will do all I require," replied his stepfather.
"Very well, sir."
Frank appeared at the academy with a grave face and subdued manner, suggestive of the great loss he had sustained. From his schoolfellows, with whom he was a favorite, he received many words of sympathy—from none more earnest or sincere than from Herbert Grant.
"I know how you feel, Frank," he said, pressing the hand of his friend. "If I could comfort you I would, but I don't know how to do it."
"I find comfort in your sympathy," said Frank. "I look upon you as my warmest friend here."
"I am glad of that, Frank."
To Herbert alone Frank spoke of his mother and her devoted affection; but even to him he did not like to mention the will and his disinheritance. He did not so much lament the loss of the property as that he had lost it by the direction of his mother, or, rather, because it would generally be supposed so.
For himself, he doubted the genuineness of the will, but he felt that it was useless to speak of it, as he was unprepared with any proofs.
So it happened that when, on Wednesday afternoon Mark Manning made his appearance, Frank's change of position, as respected the property, was neither known nor suspected by his schoolfellows. It was soon known, however, and of course, through Mark.
The boys immediately noticed a change in Mark. He assumed an air of consequence, and actually strutted across the campus. Instead of being polite and attentive to Frank, he passed him with a careless nod, such as a superior might bestow on an inferior.
"What has come over Mark?" asked Herbert of Frank, as the two were walking together from recitation.
"How do you mean?"
"He holds his head higher than he used to do. He looks as if he had been elected to some important office."
"You will soon learn, Herbert," said Frank. "Make a pretext to join him, and let the news come from him."
Herbert looked puzzled.
"Do
