"Do you desire her to abide under your roof after what you have learned?"
"Why, Grismer, I’d travel all the way to hell to get her now, if any of your creed had managed to send her there. Come; I’ve seen the child. It may be a risk, as you say. In fact, it can’t help being a risk, Grismer. But—I want her. May I have her?"
"M-m-m——" he touched a bell and a clerk appeared. Then he turned to Cleland. "Would you be good enough to see our Mr. Bunce? I thank you. Good afternoon! I am happy to have conversed again with my old friend, John Cleland,—m-m-m’yes, my friend of many years."
An hour later John Cleland left "our" Mr. Bunce, armed with proper authority to begin necessary legal proceedings.
Talking it over with Brinton, his attorney, that evening, he related the amazing conversation between himself and Chiltern Grismer.
"It isn’t religious bigotry; it’s just stinginess. Grismer is the meanest man on Manhattan Island. Didn’t you know it?"
"No. I don’t know him well—though I’ve been acquainted with him for a long while. But I don’t see how he can be stingy."
"He’s paid a thumping big salary! He makes money out of charity. Why shouldn’t he be interested?"
"Of course. They sell. It’s a great graft, Cleland. Don’t publish novels if you want to make money; print Bibles!"
"You bet! There are more parasites in pulpit, publishing house and charity concerns, who live exclusively by exploiting God, than there were unpleasant afflictions upon the epidermis of our late friend, Job. And Chiltern Grismer is one of them—the old skinflint!—hogging his only sister’s share of the Grismer money and scared stiff for fear some descendant might reopen the claim and fight the verdict which beggared his own sister!"
"By Gad!" exclaimed Cleland, very red; "I’ve a mind to look into it and start proceedings again if there is any ground——"
"Your motives would be uncharitably suspected, Cleland. You can give her enough. Besides, you don’t want to stir up anything—rattle any skeletons—for this little girl’s sake."
"No, of course not. You’re quite right, Brinton. No money could compensate her. And, as you say, I am able to provide for her amply."
"Besides," said Brinton, "there’s the paternal aunt, Miss Rosalinda Quest. She’s as rich as mud. It may be that she’ll do something for the child."