Part 12

So Hazard came. Ernie struck a match, and again in the dear, familiar workshop, where so many important councils have been held, so many family problems settled, we read the contract through together.

“Well,” says Haze, with a little sigh. “So it is really found! What a scamp that Perry is! Yes, Elizabeth, you and I will see Uncle George this evening.”

“I’m coming, too,” piped Ernie. “I found it! I want to see what he will say!”

So after dinner,—where it was rather trying, I can tell you, to talk and eat as if nothing had happened because we did not think it wise for the boarders to suspect till things should be a little more definitely settled,—we slipped into our hats and jackets and hurried around to Uncle George’s.

He sat at his desk in the library with a number of papers before him, and he looked up, rather surprised and displeased, as William ushered us into the room.

“Anything wrong at home?” he began. “You are not in trouble again, I hope, Hazard?”

“No, sir,” says Haze, importantly. “Not this time, thanks.” And he handed Uncle George the contract.

Well, you just ought to have seen Uncle George’s face change as he read it.

“Where did this come from?” he asked, abruptly. “Who found it? when?”

“I did,” piped Ernie; “this afternoon in an old copy of _Cayler’s Engineering Magazine_. And, oh, Uncle George, it was the narrowest escape! We nearly sent it to Manila, to the sick soldiers!”

“H-m-m!” says Uncle George, surveying the signatures again. “You are to be congratulated, young lady.” And then he added in a lower tone, as if to himself:—“I’ve done poor Dudley a great injustice. Apparently he wasn’t altogether a fool.” And, turning to Haze, he continued, “I’ll keep this paper, my boy, and look out for your interests. Undoubtedly you have all been very badly treated. With the contract here to prove it, we could prosecute Perry, and perhaps even land him behind the bars, but that would be a rather poor satisfaction, after all, and if you follow my advice you will use your power to settle things as expeditiously and as much to your advantage as possible.”

“Oh, yes!” answered Ernie, Haze, and I, together. “We don’t want to put anybody in jail. All we want is a little money.”

“Well,” returned Uncle George, “I’ll do my best to get it for you.” And then he took us into the drawing-room, and we related the story again to Meta and Aunt Adelaide, who listened with all their ears.

“How perfectly dandy!” cried Meta, clapping her hands when the last explanation had been made, and the last question answered. “Oh, I am so _glad_, and I guess you are, too, Elizabeth,—even if you didn’t mind being poor!”

“Indeed I am,” I agreed. “And I never said I didn’t _mind_, Meta;—only that there were certain advantages which one had to experience to find out.”

And then Aunt Adelaide rang the bell, and ordered seltzer lemonade and strawberry shortcake, and we feasted and planned. And later we came home and planned some more, after writing the good news to mother; till now it is nearly twelve o’clock, and I am sitting at my desk pouring out the wonderful story afresh, while Ernie lolls on the side of the bed, and maunders drowsily:—

“I think I’ll try Cochin Chinas, unless they’re the kind that wear ruffly pantalets. Did you ever hear of the lady that started with one egg, and ended with fifty thousand dollars? Oh, do come to bed, Elizabeth, or it will never be to-morrow morning. Our luck has changed!—and we want to wake up and find that we haven’t dreamed it.”

What Ernie says is true. Our luck has changed, indeed! And yet,—what is luck? I like to remember something the kind “Hippopotamus” said to mother one evening this winter when Robin was very sick, when Rose seemed extra-incompetent, when we were all feeling blue.

“Mrs. Graham,” he remarked, “you’re a lucky woman. I don’t care how vexatious things may seem, I don’t care how unfortunate:—with four such children as you have, there’s bound to be luck in a house!”

Wasn’t it pretty of him? And now that the Dump-Cart Contract is found, now that we are poor no longer, it will be good to remember that, for better or worse, we, ourselves, must always be the _real_ luck of the Dudley Grahams.