“And poor old Hinman was the client, eh?” asked the farmer.

“We don’t know very much about the matter,” Dave Darrin broke in, a trifle maliciously, for he fell that it might be a good thing to show up this lawyer’s tricky work.  “Mr. Hinman gave Mr. Stark a bill of twenty dollars to collect, and-----”

“It was—–­er—–­all a matter of business between a client and myself, and therefore of a confidential nature,” Lawyer Stark broke in, reddening still more.

But Dave was in no mood, just then, to be headed off so easily, so he went on: 

“Mr. Hinman showed us the letter, and asked us what we thought of it, so that rather broke the confidential nature of the matter.  You see,” turning to Mr. Hartshorn, “the bill was for twenty dollars, and it seems that.  Mr. Stark was to have half for his trouble in collecting it.  Now the letter that Mr. Hinman showed us-----”

“I protest, young man!” exclaimed the lawyer.

“The letter,” Darry went on calmly, “was to the effect that Mr. Stark had collected his own half of the twenty dollars, and that the collection of Mr. Hinman’s half of the money seemed doubtful.”

“Now, now, Stark!” exclaimed the farmer, looking sharply at the lawyer.  “Surely, that isn’t your way of doing business with a poor and aged client like Hinman!”

“I have collected the remainder of the bill, and am going to mail a settlement to Mr. Hinman to-day,” muttered the lawyer, trying to look unconcerned.  “All just a matter of routine office business, Mr. Hartshorn.”

But the lawyer felt wholly uncomfortable.  He was thinking, at that moment, that he would heartily enjoy kicking Darrin if the latter didn’t look so utterly healthy and uncommonly able to take care of himself.

“Do I hear you discussing money that is due my father?” inquired a voice behind them.  “If so, my father is very ill, as you doubtless know, and I would take pleasure in receiving the money on his behalf.”

Timothy Hinman, looking wholly the man of fashion, made this offer.  He had come up behind the group, and there was a look in his eyes which seemed to say that the handling of some of the family money would not be distasteful to him just then.

“I’ll walk along with you to your office, Mr. Stark, and receipt for the money, if you’re headed that way,” suggested the younger Hinman again.

“Unless you hold a regular power of attorney from your father, you could hardly give me a valid receipt,” replied the lawyer sourly, as he turned away from Mr. Hartshorn and the boys and started down the street.

“Won’t my receipt do until my father is up and about once more?” pressed Timothy Hinman.

“No, sir; it won’t,” snapped the lawyer.

“Have you heard, this morning, how your father is?” Dick inquired.

“Just heard, at the post-office,” Hinman answered.  “My father had a very bad day yesterday.  Er—–­in fact, the chances, I am sorry to say, appear to be very much against his recovery.”