“Oh! you’re good for twenty years yet,” said Sharpman, heartily, taking him by the hand, and walking with him to the door.  “A—­are you pretty well off for money?  Would trifling loan be of any benefit to you?”

“Why, if you can spare it,” said the old man, trying to suppress his evident pleasure at the offer; “if you can spare it, it would come in very handy indeed.”

Sharpman drew a well-filled wallet from his pocket, took two bills from it, folded them together, and placed them into Craft’s trembling fingers.  “There,” he said, “that’s all right; we won’t say anything about that till we come into our fortune.”

Old Simon pocketed the money, mumbling his thanks as he did so.  The two men shook hands again at the outer door, and Craft trudged down the avenue, toward the railroad station, his mind filled with visions of enormous wealth, but his patience sorely tried by the long delay that he must suffer before his fingers should close upon the promised money.

Sharpman returned to his office to congratulate himself upon the happy chance that had placed so rich an opportunity within his grasp.  If the old man’s story were true—­he proposed to take steps immediately to satisfy himself upon that point—­then he saw no reason why he should not have the management of a large estate.  Of course there would be opposition, but if he could succeed so far as to get the funds and the property into his hands, he felt sure that, in one way or another, he could make a fortune out of the estate before he should be compelled to relinquish his hold.  As for Simon Craft, he should use him so far as such use was necessary for the accomplishment of his object.  After that he would or would not keep faith with him, as he chose.  And as for Ralph, if he were really Robert Burnham’s son, he would be rich enough at any rate, and if he were not that son he would not be entitled to wealth.  There was no use, therefore, in being over-conscientious on his account.

It was a brilliant scheme, worth risking a great deal on, both of money and reputation, Sharpman resolved to make the most of it.

CHAPTER IV.

A set of resolutions.

It was the morning of the third day after the disaster at Burnham Shaft.  The breaker boys were to go that morning, in a body, to the mansion of their dead employer to look for the last time on his face.  They had asked that they might be permitted to do this, and the privilege had been granted.

Grief holds short reign in young hearts, it is true; but the sorrow in the hearts of these children of toil was none the less sincere.  Had there been any tendency to forget their loss, the solemn faces and tearful eyes of those who were older than they would have been a constant reminder.