"I've got a brother in New York," he answered, slowly. "Did _he_ send you here?"

"Was your brother's name A. Rodgers Warren?"

"'A. Rodgers'? No. His name is Abijah Warren, and--Wait! His middle name is Rodgers, though. Did 'Bije send you to me?"

"A moment, Captain. Was your brother a broker?"

"Yes. His office is--or used to be on Broad Street. What--"

"You have not heard from him for some time?"

"Not for eighteen years. He and I didn't agree as well as we might.

Maybe 'twas my fault, maybe 'twas his. I have my own ideas on that. If you're lookin' for 'Bije Warren's brother, Mr. Graves, I guess you've come to the right place. But _what_ he sent you to me for, or what he wants--for he wants somethin', or he wouldn't have sent--I don't understand."

"Why do you think he wanted something?"

"Because he's 'Bije Warren, and I was brought up with him. When we was young ones together, he went to school and I went to work. He got the frostin' on the cake, and I got the burnt part next to the pan. He went to college, and I went to sea. He.... However, you mustn't think I find fault with him for that. I sp'iled him as much as anybody, I guess.

'Twas later on that we.... Well, never mind that, either. What is it he wants of me, after eighteen years?"

"He wants a good deal of you, Captain Warren. Or _did_ want it."

"Did? Don't he want it now?"

"I don't know. Captain, I'm surprised that you haven't heard. It seems that I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother--"

"Is 'Bije _dead_?"

"He died ten days ago very suddenly. In a way it was a great shock to us all, yet we have known that his heart was weak. He realized it, too."

"So 'Bije is dead, hey?" Captain Elisha's face was very grave, and he spoke slowly. "Dead! Well, well, well!"

He paused and looked into the fire. Graves saw again that vague resemblance he had caught on the train, but had forgotten. He knew now why he noticed it. Unlike as the two brothers were, unlike in almost every way, the trace of family likeness was there. This sunburned, retired captain _was_ the New York financier's elder brother. And this certainty made Mr. Graves's errand more difficult, and the cause of it more inexplicable.

Captain Elisha cleared his throat.

"Well, well!" he sighed. "So 'Bije has gone. I s'pose you think it's odd, maybe," he went on, "that I ain't more struck down by the news. In a way, I am, and, in a way, I'm mighty sorry, too. But, to speak truth, he and I have been so apart, and have had nothin' to do with each other for so long that--that, well, I've come to feel as if I didn't have a brother. And I know he felt that way. Yes, and _wanted_ to feel so--I know that."

"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," observed the lawyer, gently. "I think you're mistaken there."

"I ain't mistaken. Why, look here, Mr. Graves! There was a time when I'd have got down on my knees and crawled from here to New York to help 'Bije Warren. I lent him money to start in business. Later on him and I went into partnership together on a--a fool South American speculation that didn't pan out for nothin'. I didn't care for that. I took my chance same as he did, we formed a stock company all amongst ourselves, and I've got my share of the stock somewhere yet. It may come in handy if I ever want to paper the barn. But 'twa'n't business deals of that kind that parted us, 'twas another matter. Somethin' that he did to other folks who'd trusted us and.... Humph! this don't interest you, of course.... Well, 'Bije was well off, I know. His wife died way back in the nineties. She was one of them fashionable women, and a hayseed salt-herrin' of a bachelor brother-in-law stuck down here in the sandheaps didn't interest her much--except as somethin' to forget, I s'pose. I used to see her name in the Boston papers occasionally, givin'

parties at Newport and one thing a'nother. I never envied 'em that kind of life. I'm as well fixed as I want to be. Got some money put by for a rainy spell, comf'table house and land, best town on earth to live in and work for; I'm satisfied and always have been. I wouldn't change for nothin'. But I'm nine year older than 'Bije was--and yet I'm left alive.

Hum!"

"Your brother had two children by his marriage," said Graves, after a moment of silence.

"Hey? Two children? Why, yes, I remember he did. Boy and girl, wa'n't they? I never saw em. They've growed up by this time, of course."

"Yes, the eldest, Caroline, is nearly twenty. The boy, Stephen, is a year younger. It is concerning those children, Captain Warren, that I have come to you."

Captain Elisha turned in his chair. "Hey?" he queried. "The children?

You've come to me about 'Bije's children?"

Graves nodded. "Yes," he answered, solemnly. "That is what I meant by saying your brother had not forgotten you or wished to forget you. In spite of the estrangement, it is evident that his confidence in your judgment and integrity was supreme. His children were his idols, Captain Warren, and he has left them in your charge."

The captain's pipe fell to the hearth.

"_What_?" he shouted. "Left his children to--to _me_! Mr. Graves, you're--you're out of your head--or I am!"

"No, I'm perfectly sane. I have a copy of the will here, and--"

He was interrupted by Miss Baker, who appeared at the door of the dining room. "Did you want me, 'Lisha?" she asked.

Her employer stared at her in a dazed, uncomprehending way.

"Want you?" he repeated. "Want you?"

"Yes; I heard you holler, and I thought p'raps you was callin' me."

"Hey? No, I don't want you, Abbie.... Holler! I shouldn't wonder! If all I did was holler, I'm surprised at myself. No, no! Run along out and shut the door. Yes, shut it.... Now, Mr. Graves, say that over again and say it slow."

"I say that your brother has left his two children in your care until the youngest shall become of age--twenty-one. I have a copy of his will here, and--"

"Wait, wait! let me think. Left his children to me!... to _me_. Mr.

Graves, had 'Bije lost all his money?"

"No. He was not the millionaire that many thought him. Miss Warren and her brother will be obliged to economize somewhat in their manner of living. But, with care _and_ economy, their income should be quite sufficient, without touching the princ.i.p.al, to--"

"Hold on again; the income, you say. What is that income?"

"Roughly speaking, a mere estimate, about twenty to twenty-five thousand yearly."

Captain Elisha had stooped to pick up the pipe he had dropped. His fingers touched it, but they did not close. Instead he straightened up in his chair as if suffering from an electric shock.

"Mr. Graves," he began; "Mr. Graves, are you cra--. No, I asked you that before. But--but twenty _thousand_ a--a year! For mercy sakes, what's the princ.i.p.al?"

"In the neighborhood of five hundred thousand, I believe. Of course, we had no authority to investigate thoroughly. That will be a part of your duties, but--"

"S-shh! Let me soak this into my brains a little at a time. 'Bije leaves his children five hundred thousand, half a million, and--and they've got to _economize_! And I'm.... Would you mind readin' me that will?"

The attorney drew a long envelope from his pocket, extracted therefrom a folded doc.u.ment, donned a pair of gold-mounted eyegla.s.ses, and began to read aloud.

The will was short and very concise. "'I, Abijah Rodgers Warren, being of sound mind--'"

"You're sartin that part's true, are you?" broke in the captain.

Graves nodded, rather impatiently, and continued. "'Of sound mind, memory and understanding, do make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament, in manner following, that is to say:--

"'First:--I direct my executor hereinafter named to pay my just debts and funeral expenses as soon as maybe convenient after my decease.'"