The Shoulders of Atlas | Page 5

gasped.
"Yes, I thought you hadn't heard of it."
"I've been in the house all day," said Sylvia. "I hadn't seen a soul before
you came in." She rose. "Who's taking care of her?" she asked. "She
ain't all alone?"

"Sit down," said Sidney. "She's well cared for. Miss Babcock is there.
She happened to be out of a place, and Dr. Wallace got her right away."
"Is she going to get over it?" asked Sylvia, anxiously. "I must go over
there, anyway, this evening. I always thought a good deal of
Abrahama."
"You might as well go over there," said the lawyer. "It isn't quite the
thing for me to tell you, but I'm going to. If Henry here can eat
flapjacks like those you make, Sylvia, and not say grace, his state of
mind is dangerous. I am going to tell you. Dr. Wallace says Abrahama
can't live more than a day or two, and--she has made a will and left you
all her property."
Chapter II
There was another silence. The husband and wife were pale, with
mouths agape like fishes. So little prosperity had come into their lives
that they were rendered almost idiotic by its approach.
"Us?" said Sylvia, at length, with a gasp.
"Us?" said Henry.
"Yes, you," said Sidney Meeks.
"What about Rose Fletcher, Abrahama's sister Susy's daughter?" asked
Sylvia, presently. "She is her own niece."
"You know Abrahama never had anything to do with Susy after she
married John Fletcher," replied the lawyer. "She made her will soon
afterward, and cut her off."
"I remember what they said at the time," returned Sylvia. "They all
thought John Fletcher was going to marry Abrahama instead of Susy.
She was enough sight more suitable age for him. He was too old for
Susy, and Abrahama, even if she wasn't young, was a beautiful woman,
and smarter than Susy ever thought of being."

"Susy had the kind of smartness that catches men," said the lawyer,
with a slight laugh.
"I always wondered if John Fletcher hadn't really done a good deal to
make Abrahama think he did want her," said Sylvia. "He was just that
kind of man. I never did think much of him. He was handsome and glib,
but he was all surface. I guess poor Abrahama had some reason to cut
off Susy. I guess there was some double-dealing. I thought so at the
time, and now this will makes me think so even more."
Again there was a silence, and again that expression of bewilderment,
almost amounting to idiocy, reigned in the faces of the husband and
wife.
"I never thought old Abraham White should have made the will he
did," said Henry, articulating with difficulty. "Susy had just as much
right to the property, and there she was cut off with five hundred
dollars, to be paid when she came of age."
"I guess she spent that five hundred on her wedding fix," said Sylvia.
"It was a queer will," stammered Henry.
"I think the old man always looked at Abrahama as his son and heir,"
said the lawyer. "She was named for him, and his father before him,
you know. I always thought the poor old girl deserved the lion's share
for being saddled with such a name, anyhow."
"It was a dreadful name, and she was such a beautiful girl and woman,"
said Sylvia. She already spoke of Abrahama in the past tense. "I
wonder where the niece is," she added.
"The last I heard of her she was living with some rich people in New
York," replied Meeks. "I think they took her in some capacity after her
father and mother died."
"I hope she didn't go out to work as hired girl," said Sylvia. "It would
have been awful for a granddaughter of Abraham White's to do that. I

wonder if Abrahama never wrote to her, nor did anything for her."
"I don't think she ever had the slightest communication with Susy after
she married, or her husband, or the daughter," replied Meeks. "In fact, I
practically know she did not."
"If the poor girl didn't do well, Abrahama had a good deal to answer
for," said Sylvia, thoughtfully. She looked worried. Then again that
expression of almost idiotic joy overspread her face. "That old White
homestead is beautiful--the best house in town," she said.
"There's fifty acres of land with it, too," said Meeks.
Sylvia and Henry looked at each other. Both hesitated. Then Henry
spoke, stammeringly:
"I--never knew--just how much of an income Abrahama had," he said.
"Well," replied the lawyer, "I must say not much--not as much as I
wish, for your sakes. You see, old Abraham had a lot of that railroad
stock that went to smash ten years ago, and Abrahama lost a good