“There,” he confided to his pipe—­“there goes a man hotfoot to dig his own grave with his own tongue!  The Selden kid has done told Uncle McClintock about Stan being in jail.  She told him Stan hadn’t written to Cousin Oscar about no jail, and that I wasn’t to tell him either.  Now goes Cousin Oscar on a beeline to tell Uncle how dreadful Stanley has went and disgraced the family; and Uncle will want to know how he heard of it.  ‘Why,’ says Oscar, ’an old ignoramus from Arizona, named Johnson—­friend of Stanley’s—­he told me about it.  He came up here to get me to help Stanley out; wanted me to go out and be his lawyer!’

“And, right there, down goes Cousin Oscar’s meat-house!  He’ll never touch a penny of Uncle’s money.  Selden, she says Uncle Mac was all for blowing him up sky-high; but she made him promise not to, so as not to queer my game.  If I get Oscar Mitchell out to the desert, I’ll almost persuade him to be a Christian....  She’s got Old McClintock on the run, Mary Selden has!

“Shucks!  The minute I heard about the millionaire uncle, I knowed where Stan’s trouble began.  I wonder what makes Stan such a fool!  He might ‘a’ knowed!...  This Oscar person is pretty soft....  Mighty nice kid, little Selden is!  Smart too.  She’s some schemer!...  Too smart for Oscar!...  Different complected, and all that; but her ways—­she sort of puts me in mind of Miss Sally.”

CHAPTER XII

Mr. Oscar Mitchell was a bachelor, though not precisely lorn.  He maintained an elm-shaded residence on Front Street, presided over by an ancient housekeeper, of certain and gusty disposition, who had guided his first toddling steps and grieved with him for childhood’s insupportable wrongs, and whose vinegarish disapprovals were still feared by Mitchell; it was for her praise or blame that his overt walk and conversation were austere and godly, his less laudable activities so mole-like.

After dinner Mr. Mitchell slipped into a smoking jacket with a violent velvet lining and sat in his den—­a den bedecorated after the manner known to the muddle-minded as artistic, but more aptly described by Sir Anthony Gloster as “beastly.”  To this den came now the sprightly clerk, summoned by telephone.

“Sit down, Pelman.  I sent for you because I desire your opinion and cooperation upon a matter of the first importance,” said the lawyer, using his most gracious manner.

Mr. Joseph Pelman, pricking up his ears at the smooth conciliation of eye and voice, warily circled the room, holding Mitchell’s eyes as he went, selected a corner chair for obvious strategic reasons, pushed it against the wall, tapped that wall apprehensively with a backward-reaching hand, seated himself stiffly upon the extreme edge of the chair, and faced his principal, bolt upright and bristling with deliberate insolence.

“If it is murder I want a third,” he remarked.