“Stole, sir!” chided Gadgem, his outstretched forefinger wig-wagging a Fie!  Fie! gesture of disapproval—­“Stole is not a pretty word—­actionable, sir—­DANgerously actionable—­a question of the watch-house, and, if I might be permitted to say—­a bit of cold lead—­ Perhaps you will allow me to suggest the word ‘maNIPulated,’ sir—­the money the bank maNIPulated from your confiding and inexperienced uncle—­that is safer and it is equally EXpressive.  He!  He!”

“Well, will he get the money?” cried Harry, his face lighting up, his interest in the outcome outweighing his amusement over Gadgem’s antics and expressions.

“He will, sir,” rejoined Gadgem decisively.

“And you are so sure of it that you would be willing to advance one-half the amount if the account was turned over to you this minute?” cried Harry eagerly.

“No sir—­not one-half—­all of it—­less a TRIfling commission for my services of say one per cent.  When you say ‘this minute,’ sir, I must reply that the brevity of the area of action becomes a trifle acute, yes, ALARMingly acute.  I haven’t the money myself, sir—­that is, not about my person—­but I can get it in an hour, sir—­in less time, if Mr. Temple is willing.  That was my purpose in coming here, sir—­that was why Mr. Pawson sent for me, sir; and it is but fair to say that you can thank your DIStinguished father for it all, sir—­he has worked night and day to do it.  Colonel Rutter has taken over—­so I am inFORMED—­I’m not sure, but I am inFORMED—­taken over a lot of the securities himself so that he could do it.  Another EXtraordinary combination, if you will permit me to say so—­I refer to your father—­a man who will show you his door one minute and open his pocketbook and his best bottle of wine for you the next,” and he plunged himself down in his seat with so determined a gesture that it left no question on Harry’s mind that he intended sitting it out until daylight should there be the faintest possibility of his financial proposition being accepted.

Harry walked to the window and gazed out on the trees.  There was no doubt now that Mr. Temple was once more on his feet.  “Uncle George will go now to Moorlands,” he said, decisively, in a low tone, speaking to himself, his heart swelling with pride at this fresh evidence of his father’s high sense of honor—­then he wheeled and addressed the attorney: 

“Shall I tell Mr. Temple this news, about the Patapsco Bank, Mr. Pawson?”

“Yes, if you think best, Mr. Rutter.  And I have another piece of good news.  This please do not tell Mr. Temple, not yet—­not until it is definitely settled.  That old suit in Chancery has been decided, or will be, so I learned this morning and decided in favor of the heir.  You may not have heard of it before, Gadgem,” and he turned to the collector, “but it is one of old General Dorsey Temple’s left-overs.  It has been in the courts now some forty years.  When this decision is made binding,” here he again faced Harry—­“Mr. Temple comes in for a considerable share.”