"Always tinkering around in his basement. Funny, nobody ever knew on what. He wouldn't let anybody near the place. He had a time lock and everything. What nobody could figure out is if he was trying so hard to guard something that was in the basement, why did he sometimes disappear for weeks on end without even telling anybody where he went. And I remember," Danny went on musing, "every time he came back he went into that harangue about history, as if somehow he had confirmed his suspicions. He was a funny old guy but I liked him." "You remembering him so vividly after all these years will be the best epitaph your uncle could have, Danny. But what are you going to do? About what he left you, I mean." "Uncle Averill always liked promptness. If he left something for me, he'd want me to pick it up immediately. I guess I ought to go down there to St. Augustine as fast as I can." "But your classes--" "I'll have to take an emergency leave of absence." "Under the circumstances, I'm sure the college will approve. Do you think your uncle left you anything--well--important?" "Important?" Danny repeated the word. "No, I don't think so. Not by the world's standards. But it must have been important to Uncle Averill. He was a--you know, an image-breaker--" "An iconoclast," supplied Mrs. Grange. "Yes'm, an iconoclast. But I liked him." Mrs. Grange nodded. "You'd better get over and see the Dean." An hour later, Danny was at the bus depot, waiting for the Greyhound that would take him over to Richmond, where he would meet a train for the south and Florida. * * * * * It was a rambling white stucco house with a red tile roof and a pleasant grove of palm trees in front and flame-red hibiscus climbing the stucco. The lawyer, whose name was Tartalion, met him at the door. "I'll get right down to business, Mr. Jones," Tartalion said after they had entered the house. "Your uncle wanted it that way." "Wait a minute," Danny said, "don't tell me they already had the funeral?" "Your uncle didn't believe in funerals. His will stipulated cremation." "But, it was so--" "Sudden? I know, the will wasn't officially probated. But your uncle had a judge for a friend, and under the circumstances, his wishes were granted. Now, then, you know why you're here?" "You mean, what he left me? I thought I'd at least get to see his--" "His body? Not your uncle, not old Averill Jones. You ought to know better. Sonny," the lawyer asked abruptly, "how well did you know the old man?" The sonny rankled. After all, Danny thought, I'm nineteen. I like beer and girls and I'm no sonny anymore. He sighed and thought of his history class, then thought of Uncle Averill's opinion of history, and felt better. He explained the relationship to Mr. Tartalion and waited for the lawyer to speak.