Oh, Money! Money! Part 16

As ever yours,

JOHN SMITH.

CHAPTER IX

"DEAR COUSIN STANLEY"

It was very early in November that Mr. Smith, coming home one afternoon, became instantly aware that something very extraordinary had happened.

In the living-room were gathered Mr. Frank Blaisdell, his wife, Jane, and their daughter, Mellicent. Mellicent's cheeks were pink, and her eyes more star-like than ever. Mrs. Jane's cheeks, too, were pink. Her eyes were excited, but incredulous. Mr. Frank was still in his white work-coat, which he wore behind the counter, but which he never wore upstairs in his home. He held an open letter in his hand.

It was an ecstatic cry from Mellicent that came first to Mr. Smith's ears.

"Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith, you can't guess what's happened! You couldn't guess in a million years!"

"No? Something nice, I hope." Mr. Smith was looking almost as happily excited as Mellicent herself.

"Nice--NICE!" Mellicent clasped her hands before her. "Why, Mr. Smith, we are going to have a hundred thousand--"

"Mellicent, I wouldn't talk of it--yet," interfered her mother sharply.

"But, mother, it's no secret. It can't be kept secret!"

"Of course not--if it's true. But it isn't true," retorted the woman, with excited emphasis. "No man in his senses would do such a thing."

"Er--ah--w-what?" stammered Mr. Smith, looking suddenly a little less happy.

"Leave a hundred thousand dollars apiece to three distant relations he never saw."

"But he was our cousin--you said he was our cousin," interposed Mellicent, "and when he died--"

"The letter did not say he had died," corrected her mother. "He just hasn't been heard from. But he will be heard from--and then where will our hundred thousand dollars be?"

"But the lawyer's coming to give it to us," maintained Mr. Frank stoutly. Then abruptly he turned to Mr. Smith. "Here, read this, please, and tell us if we have lost our senses--or if somebody else has."

Mr. Smith took the letter. A close observer might have noticed that his hand shook a little. The letterhead carried the name of a Chicago law firm, but Mr. Smith did not glance at that. He plunged at once into the text of the letter.

"Aloud, please, Mr. Smith. I want to hear it again," pleaded Mellicent.

DEAR SIR (read Mr. Smith then, after clearing his throat),--I understand that you are a distant kinsman of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, the Chicago millionaire.

Some six months ago Mr. Fulton left this city on what was reported to be a somewhat extended exploring tour of South America. Before his departure he transferred to me, as trustee, certain securities worth about $300,000. He left with me a sealed envelope, ent.i.tled "Terms of Trust," and instructed me to open such envelope in six months from the date written thereon--if he had not returned--and thereupon to dispose of the securities according to the terms of the trust. I will add that he also left with me a second sealed envelope ent.i.tled "Last Will and Testament," but instructed me not to open such envelope until two years from the date written thereon.

The period of six months has now expired. I have opened the envelope ent.i.tled "Terms of Trust," and find that I am directed to convert the securities into cash with all convenient speed, and forthwith to pay over one third of the net proceeds to his kinsman, Frank G. Blaisdell; one third to his kinsman, James A. Blaisdell; and one third to his kinswoman, Flora B. Blaisdell, all of Hillerton.

I shall, of course, discharge my duty as trustee under this instrument with all possible promptness. Some of the securities have already been converted into cash, and within a few days I shall come to Hillerton to pay over the cash in the form of certified checks; and I shall ask you at that time to be so good as to sign a receipt for your share.

Meanwhile this letter is to apprise you of your good fortune and to offer you my congratulations.

Very truly yours,

EDWARD D. NORTON.

"Oh-h!" breathed Mellicent.

"Well, what do you think of it?" demanded Mr. Frank Blaisdell, his arms akimbo.

"Why, it's fine, of course. I congratulate you," cried Mr. Smith, handing back the letter.

"Then it's all straight, you think?"

"Most a.s.suredly!"

"Je-hos-a-phat!" exploded the man.

"But he'll come back--you see if he don't!" Mrs. Jane's voice was still positive.

"What if he does? You'll still have your hundred thousand," smiled Mr.

Smith.

"He won't take it back?"

"Of course not! I doubt if he could, if he wanted to."

"And we're really going to have a whole hundred thousand dollars?"

breathed Mellicent.

"I reckon you are--less the inheritance tax, perhaps.

"What's that? What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Jane. "Do you mean we've got to PAY because we've got that money?"

"Why, y-yes, I suppose so. Isn't there an inheritance tax in this State?"

"How much does it cost?" Mrs. Jane's lips were at their most economical pucker. "Do we have to pay a GREAT deal? Isn't there any way to save doing that?"

"No, there isn't," cut in her husband crisply. "And I guess we can pay the inheritance tax--with a hundred thousand to pay it out of. We're going to SPEND some of this money, Jane."

The telephone bell in the hall jangled its peremptory summons, and Mr.

Frank answered it. In a minute he returned, a new excitement on his face.

"It's Hattie. She's crazy, of course. They're coming right over."

"Oh, yes! And they've got it, too, haven't they?" remembered Mellicent.

"And Aunt Flora, and--" She stopped suddenly, a growing dismay in her eyes. "Why, he didn't--he didn't leave a cent to AUNT MAGGIE!" she cried.