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Sydney might die first, leaving everything to his widow,
and some curly-haired Italian adventurer might get round her, over
there in Florence; she might be fool enough to marry again--or even
adopt somebody!
He became more and more thoughtful, forgetting entirely a plan he had
formed for the continued teasing of his Aunt Fanny; and, an hour after
lunch, he strolled over to his grandfather's, intending to apply for
further information, as a party rightfully interested.
He did not carry out this intention, however. Going into the big
house by a side entrance, he was informed that the Major was upstairs
in his bedroom, that his sons Sydney and George were both with him,
and that a serious argument was in progress. "You kin stan' right in
de middle dat big, sta'y-way," said Old Sam, the ancient negro, who
was his informant, "an' you kin heah all you a-mind to wivout goin' on
up no fudda. Mist' Sydney an' Mist' Jawge talkin' louduh'n I evuh
heah nobody ca'y on in nish heah house! Quollin', honey, big
quollin'!"
"All right," said George shortly.


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