"And I'm
not crazy."
At the mention of the trip, Larry and Tom looked at their parent
and then at each other in dismay, for they had planned a different
sort of way for spending the summer. But their attention was
quickly drawn to their father again.
"I've got to go to Scotland and we might as well all go," he was
saying. "The hired men can run the farm for the summer."
Lapsing into silence as he watched the effect of his words, Mr.
Alden enjoyed the looks of surprise and curiosity, then continued:
"When I got to Bramley this morning I found a letter from a man
named Henry Sargent, a Glasgow lawyer. He said my uncle, Thomas
Darwent, had died, leaving me the only heir to his estates. Just
how much money this means I don't know. He said it might be ten
thousand pounds."
"Phew! that's fifty thousand dollars," interposed Larry, excitedly.
"Just so," returned his father. "It may be more. I can't make out
whether that's the amount of cash or if that's what it will come to
when the land and houses are sold."
"You can write and find out," suggested Mrs. Alden.
"I can write, but I doubt if I can find out," chuckled the farmer.
"Those lawyer chaps use such high-sounding words, you can't tell
what they mean. If Uncle Darwent made me his heir, I'm going to
see I get all there Is to get. No Scotchman is going to cheat
Theodore Alden out of what's his.
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