They had three years and four months of this life together, and then the summons came for the old man. Some sort of stroke, I think; but no matter—it did for him. Not at once, but the next thing to it. A couple of days or thereabouts. He tried to tell Haworth something about the property before he went, but couldn’t manage it. The young man sat silent and looked at him wide-eyed like some timid animal distressed and fearful. Everything was left to Haworth. This included the house and grounds—on which there was a mortgage—and a few thousand dollars in the bank, doubtless the remnant of the money so obtained. That was all, of value. Quite an enormous lot of worthless stocks, mostly mining, were found in his safe-deposit boxes. Henry P. Trescott, who had been old Cripps’s legal adviser, attended to matters connected with the will, and if it hadn’t been for his suggestions Haworth would never have thought of cutting down the expenses of the establishment. He did what Trescott advised—discharged all the servants except the cook and one maid, closed the entire north side of the house, and had the telephones and more than half the electric-light bulbs removed. It isn’t likely Haworth would have consented to these economies but for Trescott’s assurance that if he didn’t it would be but a brief time before he’d have to give up the house and all that it contained. The lawyer at first advised selling the place, but to that Haworth wouldn’t agree. The house itself didn’t matter so much—it was the shop and all his things down there, and the quiet surroundings. Trescott also looked over Haworth’s work and occasionally sent out people who might be interested. But no one was. And after a time the young inventor grew to dislike having people come, knowing so well that they’d go away again with awkward regrets for having troubled him. One day when a caller was announced, he sent word by the maid that he was busy and couldn’t see anyone. The result was so gratifying that soon he came to rely on this expedient altogether. Thereafter he led a perfectly quiet and uninterrupted existence, devoting himself to the work he loved, undisturbed by events of any kind. The loss of his generous and sympathetic companion had affected him deeply, and often he was beset with an aching loneliness. But always he could retreat into the safe sanctuary of mechanics—the perfect absorption in his inventive pursuits—where loneliness and grief were successfully held at bay.