The House of a Thousand Candles | Page 4

youth and that sort of thing,
with a good-natured old man for their prey. None of them for me!"

"I rather thought so," remarked Pickering--and he pulled his watch
from his pocket and turned the stem with his heavy fingers. He was
short, thick-set and sleek, with a square jaw, hair already thin and a
close-clipped mustache. Age, I reflected, was not improving him.
I had no intention of allowing him to see that I was irritated. I drew out
my cigarette case and passed it across the table,
"After you! They're made quite specially for me in Madrid."
"You forget that I never use tobacco in any form."
"You always did miss a good deal of the joy of living," I observed,
throwing my smoking match into his waste-paper basket, to his obvious
annoyance. "Well, I'm the bad boy of the story-books; but I'm really
sorry my inheritance has a string tied to it. I'm about out of money. I
suppose you wouldn't advance me a few thousands on my
expectations--"
"Not a cent," he declared, with quite unnecessary vigor; and I laughed
again, remembering that in my old appraisement of him, generosity had
not been represented in large figures. "It's not in keeping with your
grandfather's wishes that I should do so. You must have spent a good
bit of money in your tiger-hunting exploits," he added.
"I have spent all I had," I replied amiably. "Thank God I'm not a clam!
I've seen the world and paid for it. I don't want anything from you. You
undoubtedly share my grandfather's idea of me that I'm a wild man who
can't sit still or lead an orderly, decent life; but I'm going to give you a
terrible disappointment. What's the size of the estate?"
Pickering eyed me--uneasily, I thought--and began playing with a
pencil. I never liked Pickering's hands; they were thick and white and
better kept than I like to see a man's hands.
"I fear it's going to be disappointing. In his trust-company boxes here I
have been able to find only about ten thousand dollars' worth of
securities. Possibly-- quite possibly--we were all deceived in the

amount of his fortune. Sister Theresa wheedled large sums out of him,
and he spent, as you will see, a small fortune on the house at Annandale
without finishing it. It wasn't a cheap proposition, and in its unfinished
condition it is practically valueless. You must know that Mr. Glenarm
gave away a great deal of money in his lifetime. Moreover, he
established your father. You know what he left--it was not a small
fortune as those things are reckoned."
I was restless under this recital. My father's estate had been of
respectable size, and I had dissipated the whole of it. My conscience
pricked me as I recalled an item of forty thousand dollars that I had
spent--somewhat grandly--on an expedition that I led, with
considerable satisfaction to myself, at least, through the Sudan. But
Pickering's words amazed me.
"Let me understand you," I said, bending toward him. "My grandfather
was supposed to be rich, and yet you tell me you find little property.
Sister Theresa got money from him to help build a school. How much
was that?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. It was an open account. His books show the
advances, but he took no notes."
"And that claim is worth--?"
"It is good as against her individually. But she contends--"
"Yes, go on!"
I had struck the right note. He was annoyed at my persistence and his
apparent discomfort pleased me.
"She refuses to pay. She says Mr. Glenarm made her a gift of the
money."
"That's possible, isn't it? He was for ever making gifts to churches.
Schools and theological seminaries were a sort of weakness with him."

"That is quite true, but this account is among the assets of the estate. It's
my business as executor to collect it."
"We'll pass that. If you get this money, the estate is worth sixty
thousand dollars, plus the value of the land out there at Annandale, and
Glenarm House is worth--"
"There you have me!"
It was the first lightness he had shown, and it put me on guard.
"I should like an idea of its value. Even an unfinished house is worth
something."
"Land out there is worth from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
dollars an acre. There's an even hundred acres. I'll be glad to have your
appraisement of the house when you get there."
"Humph! You flatter my judgment, Pickering. The loose stuff there is
worth how much?"
"It's all in the library. Your grandfather's weakness was architecture--"
"So I remember!" I interposed, recalling my stormy interviews with
John Marshall Glenarm over my choice of a profession.
"In his last years he turned more