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"What man do you mean?"
"Tim Brady."
"Oh!" uttered Frank, and a whole lot of light seemed to flood his mind in an instant. "How do you know that?"
"President Elliott send word to me that a visitor wished to see me in the reception-room. I just came down and looked in. That terrible man who calls me his relative is in there talking to the president."
"What is he after?" asked Frank.
"Can't you see?" spoke Ned in a tone of great agitation and excitement. "He has followed me clear here. He is going to drive me away from here, just as he has driven me away from other places. I can't meet him -- the cold chills run all over me whenever my eyes light on him," and Ned shuddered.
"See here, Ned Foreman," said Frank, "you go right into that room. Brace straight up to that miserable wretch, and defy him. Don't be a bit scared at anything he may say to you. I'll do the rest."
"How -- how can you?" stammered the terrified boy.
"Leave that to me. I know a lot I'll tell you afterward. Go ahead, now, and don't you show one particle of fear. Leave the door ajar a little, just as it is. I'm no eavesdropper, but on the present occasion I'm mightily interested in seeing and hearing all that's going on."
There was something unaccountable about Ned Foreman's dread of his professed relative. He passed into the reception-room, but he was trembling all over and his face was pale and frightened.
President Elliott sat near a table, and the tramp whom Frank knew as Tim Brady was standing up in front of him.
He did not look much like the fellow Frank had rescued Ned from at Tipton.
In his hand he carried a high silk hat. He was clean shaven, and his hair was combed and plastered down over his bullet head. His clerical-looking frock coat was buttoned up to the chin. His face was drawn in a hypocritical expression of great concern.
"Ah, my boy! my boy!" he exclaimed, jumping about and rushing at Ned, extending both hands as if about to greet some beloved friend.
Ned Foreman shrank from his obnoxious relative in horror.
Chapter XVIII
A Doleful "Uncle"
Frank, peering in at the doorway of the school reception-room, saw that President Elliott looked both grave and concerned. Judging from the expression of his face, Frank decided that the academy head was not very favorably impressed with either the words or the appearance of the visitor.
"You see, kind sir," said the repulsed Brady, turning to him and snuffling as if at the point of tears, "my own kin disowns me. Oh, sir, it is hard, hard, to have it happen so!"
Ned did not say a word. He simply kept at a safe distance.
"If I may ask," spoke Mr. Elliott, "what do you expect of this boy?"
"Forgiveness," whined the tramp. "Yes, sir, that is the word. I have wronged him cruelly. I admit it, to my shame. I was a worthless, shiftless man, and I abused him and drove him from my heart. Now I have reformed, and I seek to make atonement. He is my last living relative. To whom shall I go for sympathy, to whom shall I cling but my dead wife's brother?"
"Stepbrother," corrected Ned almost sharply. "You are no relative of mine."
"Boy, don't taunt me, don't make my sufferings more than they are," and Brady heaved a prodigious sigh. "I have given up drinking. It's this way: An old-time friend of mine, who has made eighteen million dollars in a diamond mine in Canada -- -- "
"How's that? How's that?" challenged the learned old professor keenly. "According to the last authoritative geological data available, Canada -- -- "
"I mean Brazil; yes, that's it, Brazil -- anyhow, somewhere over in Africa."
"H'm!" sniffed the old professor suspiciously.
"He found me in rags. I told him my story. He offered to set me on my feet again if I would sign the pledge. I signed it. Then he bought me a home, and put enough money in the bank to start me in some nice little business, and some other money. I got thinking of this poor, homeless lad. It almost broke my heart. I have spent several hundred dollars having detectives trace him down."
"Jem and Dan," Frank told himself, and almost laughed outright.
"At last I find him," proceeded Brady. "I wish to provide for him; I wish to educate and make a man of him."
"Very well," nodded Mr. Elliott. "He is here at a good school. Let him remain. I shall be pleased to have him now on a basis where he can study and learn all of his time, instead of having to work his way, for he is a bright, promising scholar."
"Exactly, exactly," assented Brady eagerly; "only, you see, sir, I want to prove that I mean well by him."
"Prove it, then, by paying his tuition for a year, and leave him in competent hands," suggested the practical, sensible educator.
"Willingly," declared Brady. "I'll pay five years in advance if you say so, only I'd like to have him come with me for a week or so."
"Why?"
"To get used to me. To see that I'm in earnest I want his advice about my new house, about my business. I want to get him a fine outfit. He can have the best, sir, I assure you. I will get him a watch. I understand these college fellows like pets. I'll buy him a pug dog."
"Not for Bellwood School you won't," observed Mr. Elliott bluntly.
"No, sir, that's so," assented Brady. "I'll buy him a horse and a boat, then, anything he wants, only let him come with me. We are all of us weak, sir. I may be tempted, I may fall. Let him sort of brace me up for a couple of weeks. Then he will return, realizing that his poor old relative is genuine, and I'll be proud all the time thinking I've won his respect."
Professor Elliott fixed his eyes on the speaker as if he would pierce him through and through. Then he regarded Brady thoughtfully. Finally he spoke.
"Foreman, do you wish to go with this man?" he asked.
"No, sir, never!" cried Ned fervently. "Professor Elliott, please, please don't let him take me away!"
"Do I understand," inquired the professor of Brady, "that you pretend to be the legal guardian of this boy?"
"Oh, no, sir; no, indeed," Brady hastened to say. "I'm only his poor old -- "
"Then, if you are not his legal guardian," remarked Mr. Elliott decidedly, "the boy remains here, if he so elects. That ends the matter, I think."
Brady made a great ado. He tried to look pathetic and mournful.
"My boy," he sniffled, "won't you grant the dying request -- I mean the ardent request of your poor, homeless old relative?"
"I thought your eighteen million dollar friend had given you a home," intimated Ned.
"True, but what is a home without a -- a relative?"
"I won't go with you, and that ends it," said Ned firmly.