Arms and the Woman | Page 7

fortunes. Money is a balm for most
things, and coupled with travel it might lead me to forget.
He was the family lawyer, and he had come all the way North to see
that I received my uncle's bequest. He was bent, gray and partially bald.
He must have been close to seventy, but for all that there was a
youthful twinkle in his eyes as he took my card and looked up into my
face.
"So you are John Winthrop?" he said in way of preliminary. You may
hand a card case full of your name to a lawyer, and still he will insist
upon a verbal admission.
"I have always been led to believe so," I answered smartly, placing my
hat beside the chair in which I sat down. "How did you manage to
locate me in this big city?"
"Your uncle had seen some of your signed articles in New York papers,
and said that in all probability I should find you here. A few inquiries
set me on your track." Here he pulled out a lengthy document from his
handbag. "I confess, however," he added, "that I am somewhat
disappointed in your looks."
"Disappointed in my looks!" was my cry. "What sort of a duffer were
you expecting to see?"
He laughed. "Well, your uncle gave me the idea that I should find a

good-for-nothing hack-writer, a dweller in some obscure garret."
"If that is the case, what under the sun did he send you up here for?"
The merriment went out of the old man's face and his eyes became
grave. "Of that anon. Let me proceed with my business and read the
will to you. You will find it rather a remarkable document."
I settled back in my chair in a waiting attitude. To tell the truth, I was
somewhat confused by all this preamble. To his son my uncle left the
bulk of his property, which amounted to more than a million. I was
listless. The head overseer received the munificent sum of $50,000; to
the butler, the housekeeper and the cook he gave $10,000 each. I began
to grow interested. He was very liberal to his servants. Several other
names were read, and my interest assumed the color of anxiety. When
the lawyer stopped to unfold the last flap, I spoke.
"And where in the world do I come in?"
"In the sense you understand, you do not come in."
I stared at him in amazement. "I don't come in?" I repeated vaguely.
"Ah," reaching down for my hat, "then I go out, as it were;" as brilliant
as a London yellow fog. "What the devil does all this mean?" I started
to rise.
"Wait!" he commanded. "'To my nephew, John Winthrop, I bequeath
the sum of $1,000 to be presented to him in person immediately after
this will is probated, and with the understanding that he shall make no
further demand upon my son and heir in the future.' That is all,"
concluded the lawyer, folding the document. "I have the check in my
pocket."
"Keep it," said I, rising. A hot flush of indignation swept over me. I
understood. It was his revenge. To have a man make sport of you after
he is dead and gone, leaving you impotent and with never a chance to
retaliate! "Keep it," I said again; "throw it away, or burn it. I understand.
He has satisfied a petty revenge. It is an insult not only to me, but to my

dead parents. You are, of course, acquainted with the circumstances of
my mother's marriage. She married the man she loved, disregarding her
brother's wishes."
"I knew your mother," said the lawyer, going to the window and
looking out and beyond all that met his gaze.
"To think," I went on, cooling none, "that my mother's brother should
die in this manner, nourishing so small and petty a spite! When he did
this he knew that I should understand his motive. In the first place, I
never dreamed that he would remember me in his will; never
entertained the least idea of it. I am independent; I am earning a
livelihood, small, but enough and to spare. I'll bid you good morning." I
took a step toward the door.
"Young man, sit down," said the old man, coming back to his chair. "I
want to talk to you for a few minutes. Your uncle was a peculiarly
vindictive man. What he considered a wrong he neither forgot nor
forgave. His son pleaded with him not to put in that final clause. He
offered even to share with you. Your uncle swore he would leave it all
to the stablemen first. This journey was forced upon me, or I should not
have taken it. This is my