"A smart boy!" he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. "I like his get-up.
You have a bright family."

Henry Cowperwood smiled dryly. This man, if he liked Frank, might do
much for the boy. He might eventually leave him some of his fortune. He
was wealthy and single.

Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house--he and his negro
body-guard, Manuel, who spoke both English and Spanish, much to the
astonishment of the children; and he took an increasing interest in
Frank.

"When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants to do, I think
I'll help him to do it," he observed to his sister one day; and she told
him she was very grateful. He talked to Frank about his studies,
and found that he cared little for books or most of the study he was
compelled to pursue. Grammar was an abomination. Literature silly. Latin
was of no use. History--well, it was fairly interesting.

"I like bookkeeping and arithmetic," he observed. "I want to get out and
get to work, though. That's what I want to do."

"You're pretty young, my son," observed his uncle. "You're only how old
now? Fourteen?"

"Thirteen."

"Well, you can't leave school much before sixteen. You'll do better
if you stay until seventeen or eighteen. It can't do you any harm. You
won't be a boy again."