And as this filled so large a part of his thoughts there was nothing else he cared to talk about.  After all his trip to Philadelphia had not been productive of any results.  He knew no more now than when he started about the extent of Mr. Tyler’s fortune.

When they reached Marley, Sydney took a hack that always waited at the station, and he and Rex rode down to the Pellery, Scott living close to the station in the other direction.

“Do you feel all right, Syd?” asked Rex during the ride.

Sydney nodded without making any reply, and soon they reached home.  Rex was unusually silent during dinner.  He looked up in surprised fashion when he learned that Sydney had gone off without his breakfast that morning.  Sydney explained that it was due to urgent business in town.  Rex wondered what the family would think if they knew about the scene at the office that afternoon.

Nobody said anything about Mr. Tyler after Sydney had admitted that he died before he left him the previous night.  Rex was the one most likely to discourse on the subject, but now he had his reasons for not broaching it.

The next morning Sydney did not go to the city.  He devoted himself to making arrangements for Mr. Tyler’s burial.  The death was published in all the Philadelphia papers, and the Pells expected that some one might come down, claiming to be a relative.

But no one appeared, and on Saturday the funeral was held in the little house in Burdock.  All the Pells were present, and a great number of people from Marley.

The news that the miser was very wealthy and had left all his money, except a small legacy to his servant, to Mrs. Pell, spread rapidly and created a great sensation.

Everybody connected it with Roy’s act of rescue on the trestle, and so many spoke to him about it that he was almost afraid to show himself in public.

“What do you care?” said Jess, when he complained to her about it.  “It certainly isn’t a thing you are ashamed of.”

“But I don’t know what to say,” he returned.  “It sounds silly to tell them it wasn’t anything, and I can’t say, yes, I think it was a very brave act.  So there I am.”

“You poor boy.  What do you do, usually?”

“Try to get around it by telling them that I’m not the heir but mother.  I suppose that’s kind of mean, too, for I know she hates to be spoken to about it as much as I do.”

The Pells were the observed of all observers at the funeral.  Eva had declared at first that she thought they ought not to go.

“We’ll just make a show of ourselves,” she said.  “It was very unfortunate all this got out before Mr. Tyler was buried.”

But Mrs. Pell announced that respect for the dead demanded their presence, so they went.  Every one remarked on the pallor of Sydney.  His mother had worried over it considerably.

“You must be the first to take advantage of our altered circumstances, my dear boy,” she had told him.  “I want you to give up work for a while and go away for a good long rest.”