Part 27 (1/2)
”Better and better. I am expected to recognize a New York bootblack as my nephew!”
”It was your fault that I was reduced to be a bootblack.”
”How happens it that you are not in the same line of business now?
Perhaps you are.”
”Jacob died and left me a few dollars, with which I came out West.
Before he died he gave me a written paper, in which he revealed all the plot into which he entered with you.”
”He gave you a paper, did he?”
”Yes. From it I learned that I was born in Cincinnati, and I expected to find you here. But I looked in vain. After awhile I found my father's place of business. I introduced myself to Mr. Ferguson, and he gave me a place in his employ.”
”On the strength of your ridiculous story, I suppose?”
”Because he believed me to be the son of his old employer, John Grey.”
”I thought Ferguson had more sense than to be duped by such a designing young rascal.”
”He tells me that I bear a strong resemblance to my father. Look in my face, Uncle James, and tell me whether it is not true.”
Almost involuntarily James Grey fixed his eyes on the frank, handsome face of his nephew, as he stood intrepidly before him, and he was forced, however reluctantly, to admit to himself that the resemblance was indeed very striking.
The case was getting more serious than he had expected. Gilbert had already been recognized as the missing son of John Grey, and that by a man whose testimony would carry great weight. Old Jacob had testified not only to his ident.i.ty, but to the wrongful compact by which Gilbert had been spirited away to suit his uncle's rapacity. Were this publicly known, his reputation would be destroyed, and he would be deprived of the wealth which he had labored so dishonestly to acquire. Evidently the claim was not to be disposed of so easily as he had at first supposed.
”What do you call yourself?” he asked.
”Gilbert Grey.”
”Of course you would take the name of the boy you pretend to be.”
”Then you don't believe I am Gilbert Grey?”
”No, I do not. I believe that Gilbert Grey is dead.”
”Are you willing to come with me to Mr. Ferguson's, and speak to him about it?”
”No, I am not. I have not time. I must leave Cincinnati at once.”
”Then will you tell me where you live?”
”No.”
”Why not?”
”Because I see that you intend to follow me up and persecute me about this preposterous claim. I don't choose to be troubled.”