``My brother Wharton is the soul of honor,'' said
Mrs. Gower, the elder, with dignity. ``You are too
young to take all the responsibility of settling the
estate. Yes, I'll send for Wharton to-morrow.''

``It'll look as though you didn't trust me,'' said
Frank sourly.

``We mustn't do anything to start the gossips in
this town,'' said his wife, assisting.

``Then send for him yourself, Frank,'' said Mildred,
``and give him charge of the whole matter.''

Frank eyed her furiously. ``How ashamed father
would be!'' exclaimed he.

But this solemn invoking of the dead man's spirit
was uneffectual. The specter of poverty was too
insistent, too terrible. Said the widow:

``I'm sure, in the circumstances, my dear dead
husband would want me to get help from someone older
and more experienced.''

And Frank, guilty of conscience and an expert in
the ways of conventional and highly moral rascality,
ceased to resist. His wife, scenting danger to their
getting the share that ``rightfully belongs to the son,
especially when he has been the brains of the firm for