"You don't see that?" interrogated Fox sharply. "Do you mean to keep it yourself?"

"Not for my own use; I am not that kind of a man, Mr. Fox. But I have no authority to hand the money over in the unceremonious way you expect."

"Why not? Isn't the boy dead?"

"I have no proof of it."

"What better proof do you want than the _New York Herald?_"

"The account in the _Herald_ may contain errors."

"Perhaps you think the boy could swim to sh.o.r.e a few hundred miles,"

suggested John Fox with sarcasm.

"No, I don't think that likely."

"Then what possible chance had he to escape?"

"He might have been rescued by a pa.s.sing vessel."

"Look here, Mr. Howard," said Fox indignantly, "you don't mean what you say. You evidently mean to keep that money from the lawful claimants. I am not much surprised. I expected it. But I can tell you here and now that John Fox isn't a man to be cheated and imposed upon. I mean to have my rights."

"Are you aware, Mr. Fox, that your language is offensive and insulting?"

"I don't care. I came here for justice. That money ought not to be in your hands, who are no kith nor kin to Harry Vane. It ought to go to me, and I mean to sue you for it."

"Mr. Fox, I propose to obey the law, but it appears to me that you are taking it for granted that Harry Vane is dead without sufficient proof."

"What more proof do you want than this paragraph? The fact is, you don't want to believe it."

"No!" answered Mr. Howard in a tone of emotion, "I don't want to believe that poor Harry is dead."

"Nor I," said John Fox. "If the boy hadn't been foolish and left my happy home, he'd have been alive to-day. But we can't alter facts. He's dead, and all our grief won't bring him back."

Benjamin Howard looked at the man curiously. "His grief doesn't seem to be very profound," he thought. "I will test him."

"Even if I were convinced that poor Harry was dead," he said, "I should not deliver up the money till you had established a legal claim to it."

"So you mean to put all possible obstacles in my way," said John Fox, provoked. "I thought so. But, Mr. Howard, let me tell you that you can't rob the orphan."

"Meaning yourself?"

"No, I mean the dead boy--that is the orphan's estate--without settling with _me._ I am a man of influence, I'd have you know, and I'll put the matter in the hands of the lawyer right off."

"It might be well, first, to listen to what I have to say."

"Aha! he's scared!" thought John Fox.

"I'm ready to hear what you've got to say," he answered, "but it won't influence me a particle."

"I think it will. Harry Vane is alive!"

"What!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed John Fox, his face expressing his dismay. "It's a lie. I don't believe it."

"Georgie," said Mr. Howard to his little son, who just then entered the room, "go to my desk and bring me Harry Vane's letter."

This was done at once, John Fox meanwhile sitting in painful suspense.

"This letter," said Mr. Howard, taking it in his hand, "was posted, as you see, at Melbourne, Australia. Harry was shipwrecked on an island, from which he finally escaped, and was carried to Melbourne. He writes me that he has gone to the mines, and is hoping to find some gold there."

"Is this true?" asked Fox in a hollow voice.

"I will read you the letter, and show you the signature."

"I think it's a forgery."

"No chance of that. I know Harry Vane's handwriting well. But you don't look well, Mr. Fox. I thought you would be pleased to hear that Harry had escaped from the perils of shipwreck and is alive."

John Fox did not reply, but after examining the letter he rose with a rueful countenance, and departed unceremoniously, a badly disappointed man.

"It'll cost me three dollars to get back," he groaned, "and I shall have to stop at a hotel, for there is no train till to-morrow. 'Most ten dollars gone altogether--just thrown away! I'm a very unlucky man."

The news he carried home brought grief to Mrs. Fox and Joel. Only Sally seemed glad that Harry was still living. For so expressing herself she was severely rebuked by her mother.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

HOME AGAIN.

It was a bright, beautiful morning when our three friends landed in New York. Their voyage had been a favorable one, and they had made some pleasant acquaintances, but they were overjoyed to tread once more the familiar streets and see the familiar sights of the American metropolis.

They registered at a quiet hotel on the European system, intending to remain in the city a few days. They sought out a prominent broker and asked his advice about the investment of their money. He received them in a friendly manner, and gave them the best advice in his power. Each reserved three hundred dollars for present use.

It was a novelty to all of them to be free from anxiety on the score of money, and it may well be believed that all enjoyed the feeling.

The second morning, as they were walking down Broadway, their eyes fell upon a familiar figure. Directly in front of them they beheld a slender young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, swinging a light cane. As he walked along it was easy to see that he was on the most comfortable and agreeable terms with himself, and firmly persuaded that he was an object of general admiration.

"Montgomery Clinton!" exclaimed Harry and Jack simultaneously.

"You don't mean to say you know that critter!" said Obed, eying Mr.

Clinton with evident curiosity.

"Yes, he was one of the _Nantucket_ pa.s.sengers, and shipwrecked with us," said Harry. "He did not remain in Australia, but took a return vessel at once."

"That was lucky. A critter like that wouldn't be of much account at the mines."

"Stop! I am going to speak to him."