r
anything."

"Then you are really my cousin Ernest?"

"Yes."

"I wonder why pa said you were dead. I will tell pa he is mistaken."

"No, Clarence, I would rather you wouldn't. There are reasons why it
is better not to say anything about it."

"All right. Are you well off?"

Ernest smiled.

"I am not rich," he said, "but I am comfortably fixed."

"Do you live in California?"

"I have lived there for the last few months."

"Why did you come East?"

"On a little business."

"I am glad you are well off. I think pa was afraid you were a poor
relation."

"Your father is rich?"

"Yes, ever so rich. We've got a fine place near Elmira. If pa wasn't
so cranky I would invite you there to visit me."

"Thank you all the same," said Ernest, smiling.

Later in the evening, when Stephen Ray came in, Ernest noticed that he
looked at him critically. He, too, examined the man who, he had reason
to believe, was enjoying the estates that should be his, and was not
attracted towards him.

"What will he say," thought Ernest, "when I make a formal demand for
the property?"

"What in the name of all that's unlucky can have brought that boy here
at this time?" Stephen Ray was saying to himself.

He never for an instant doubted Ernest's identity--in fact, he could
not well have done so, for he bore a strong resemblance to Dudley Ray,
who had been a strikingly handsome man, very much the superior of
Stephen in personal attractions.

Stephen Ray's curiosity was excited. Ernest did not appear like the
average poor relation. He was quite as well dressed as Clarence.
Besides, he had registered at a high-priced hotel, and this alone
showed that he was not cramped for means.

This gave him some satisfaction, as it made it less likely that he
would appeal to him for assistance.

Stephen Ray was rather surprised that Clarence made no further
reference to Ernest. Had he known that the two had had a conversation
he would have been seriously disturbed. He only hoped that Bolton
would not get hold of the boy.

CHAPTER XXXV.

MR. BOLTON AND HIS CLIENT.

Benjamin Bolton sat at his desk in the law office of Albert Norcross,
on Nassau Street. He was well, even handsomely dressed, and looked
very unlike the shabby tramp who had called months before at the house
of Stephen Ray.

He was really a man of ability, and this his employer had found out.
He had raised Bolton's salary to a liberal figure, and felt that in
securi