Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it."
"Have you made up your mind to be that guardian?"
"Not yet. I haven't made up my mind to anything yet. Now, Mr. Sylvester,
while we're waitin' for what comes next--you've ordered enough grub
to victual a ship--s'pose you just run over what your firm knows about
'Bije. That is, if I ain't askin' too much."
"Not at all. That's what I'm here for. You have a right to know. But I
warn you my information isn't worth much."
He went on, briefly and with the conciseness of the legal mind, to tell
of A. Rodgers Warren, his business and his estate. He had been a broker
with a seat on the Stock Exchange.
"That seat is worth consider'ble, ain't it?" interrupted the captain.
"Between eighty and one hundred thousand dollars."
"Yup. Well, it reminds me of a picture I saw once in one of the comic
papers. An old feller from the backwoods somewheres--good deal like me,
he was, and just about as green--was pictured standin' along with
his city nephew in the gallery of the Exchange. And the nephew says,
'Uncle,' says he, 'do you realize that a seat down there's wuth
seventy-five thousand dollars?' 'Gosh!' says the old man, 'no wonder
most of 'em are standin' up.' Ho! ho! Is that seat of 'Bije's part of
the five hundred thousand you figger he's left?"
"Yes, in a way it is.
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