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“Well, Peep, sech bein’ the case, whut would you say ef I was to tell you that you’re a rich man?”

The answer came slowly.

“I reckin, suh, ef it didn’t sound disrespectful, I’d say you was prankin’ with me–makin’ fun of me, suh.”

Judge Priest bent forward in his chair.

“I’m not prankin’ with you. It’s my pleasant duty to inform you that at this moment you are the rightful owner of eight thousand pounds.”

“Pounds of whut, Judge?” The tone expressed a heavy incredulity.

“Why, pounds in money.”

Outside, in the hall, with one ear held conveniently near the crack in the door, Deputy Sheriff Quarles gave a violent start; and then, at once, was torn between a desire to stay and hear more and an urge to hurry forth and spread the unbelievable tidings. After the briefest of struggles the latter inclination won; this news was too marvellously good to keep; surely a harbinger and a herald was needed to spread it broadcast.

Mr. Quarles tiptoed rapidly down the hall. When he reached the sidewalk the volunteer bearer of a miraculous tale fairly ran. As for the man who sat facing the Judge, he merely stared in a dull bewilderment.

“Judge,” he said at length, “eight thousand pounds of money oughter make a powerful big pile, oughten it?”

“It wouldn’t weigh quite that much ef you put it on the scales,” explained His Honour painstakingly. “I mean pounds sterlin’–English money. Near ez I kin figger offhand, it comes in our money to somewheres between thirty-five and forty thousand dollars–nearer forty than thirty-five. And it’s all yours, Peep–every red cent of it.”

“Excuse me, suh, and not meanin’ to contradict you, or nothin’ like that; but I reckin there must be some mistake. Why, Judge, I don’t scursely know anybody that’s ez wealthy ez all that, let alone anybody that’d give me sech a lot of money.”

“Listen, Peep: This here letter I’m holdin’ in my hand came to me by to-day’s mail–jest a little spell ago. It’s frum Ireland–frum the town of Kilmare, where your people came frum. It was sent to me by a firm of barristers in that town–lawyers we’d call ’em. In this letter they ask me to find you and to tell you whut’s happened. It seems, frum whut they write, that your uncle, by name Daniel O’Day, died not very long ago without issue–that is to say, without leavin’ any children of his own, and without makin’ any will.

“It appears he had eight thousand pounds saved up. Ever since he died those lawyers and some other folks over there in Ireland have been tryin’ to find out who that money should go to. They learnt in some way that your father and your mother settled in this town a mighty long time ago, and that they died here and left one son, which is you. All the rest of the family over there in Ireland have already died out, it seems; that natchelly makes you the next of kin and the heir at law, which means that all your uncle’s money comes direct to you.

“So, Peep, you’re a wealthy man in your own name. That’s the news I had to tell you. Allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune.”

The beneficiary rose to his feet, seeming not to see the hand the old Judge had extended across the desktop toward him. On his face, of a sudden, was a queer, eager look. It was as though he foresaw the coming true of long-cherished and heretofore unattainable visions.

“Have you got it here, suh?”

He glanced about him as though expecting to see a bulky bundle. Judge Priest smiled.

“Oh, no; they didn’t send it along with the letter–that wouldn’t be regular. There’s quite a lot of things to be done fust. There’ll be some proofs to be got up and sworn to before a man called a British consul; and likely there’ll be a lot of papers that you’ll have to sign; and then all the papers and the proofs and things will be sent acrost the ocean. And, after some fees are paid out over there–why, then you’ll git your inheritance.”