Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 111: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

106 — Miss De Montreuil Decides. you can, and enjoy the money you have ‘earned; no one will yejoice more heartily than IL.” “Well, well, well, don’t let us talk about it. We will speak e yourself What have you been doing since I saw you tie, “Much the same as usual. Nothing of any great import- ance, | am afraid.” . “And our wonderful art—our divine profession—in which we were to achieve such miracles-—_-what of that?’ The young man reddened again at the sneer, this time not without a sense of guilt. “The miracles are still unachieved. I paint, but my paint- ings are rejected. Yet still I hope I will one day be a painter.” “A modern Raphael, no ok ” the old man said, with bit- ter sarcasm. “Permit me to offer my congratulations before- hand. With such brilhant hopes of speedy fame and fortune, old Wylder, the money-grubbing, miserly stockbroker’s — wealth can matter little to you. It sets my mind at rest to know your future is secured, and leaves me free to follow my own inclinations.” “You are always free,” ee Bartram said, divugh his heart sank within him. “The wealth you have amassed hon- orably in the course of a long life is certainly yours to dis- pose of as you choose. You have been very good to me. Leave it as you may, I have no right to be anything but grateful.” “Ah, philosophie, I see! How coolly the young men of the present day take the ups and downs of life! Mr, Alwyn Bar- tram will scarcely miss what he values so lightly.” “You are determined to misunderstand me, uncle,” the young man said, repressing his anger by an effort; “but you always misunderstood me. I suppose I am to conclude,” look- ing him full in the eyes “that Robert Bartram is your heir?” “TE Robert ‘Bartram be alive,” the old man said, slowly— res.” “ Oh, Leonie! His thoughts went Wack to her as he had seen her last, bright, beautiful, heartless, with the sharpest pang __ he had ever felt in his life. “If your uncle leaves you his fortune, I will be your wife; if not-——” sh Alwyn Bartram turned very pale, but his dark, resolute eyes met those of the old man on the bed without flinching. “Your fortune is your own, Mr. Wylder. You have every right to leave it to your favorite nephew.’ For me, I am_ - hardly surprised. I think I expected this.” “There is still a chance,” the sick man said, cone ig can make a new will, and Robert Bartram was never my favorite nephew. Give up this nonsensical art; make a bon- comicbooks.com |