He ushered John into his private office, closed the door, motioned John to a seat, sat down heavily in his own broad chair, and began rummaging fussily through his littered desk to find the will. It may seem strange that a lawyer whom old John Bagsbury would trust should be so careless about an important document like a last will and testament, that finding it in his desk should be a matter of difficulty; but it is certain that Judge Hayes had looked in every pigeonhole in his desk, and had opened every drawer and shut it again with a bang, before his hand alighted upon the paper which at this moment meant more than anything else to the man who sat waiting. All the while the Judge had been hailing down a shower of small remarks upon all conceivable subjects, and John had answered all of them in a voice that gave no hint of impatience. At last he unfolded the will, swung round in his chair to get a better light on it, tilted back at a seemingly perilous angle, cleared his throat, and said:-- “This storm makes it rather hard to see. I wonder how many more days it will last?” “I guess it’s about worked itself out,” said John. “It can’t last forever.” Judge Hayes began reading in that rapid drone which lawyers affect, but he knew the will almost by heart, and he found time to cast many swift glances at John Bagsbury. John sat low in his chair, his chin on his breast, his legs crossed, his thumbs hooked into his trousers pockets. His eyes were half closed, the lower lids being drawn to meet the drooping upper ones; his gaze seemed fixed on one of the casters of the lawyer’s chair; his brows bore the slight frown of a man who listens intently. And that was all; though the lawyer’s glance grew more expectant and alert as he proceeded, there was no change in the lines of John Bagsbury’s face or figure to betray anger or disappointment or annoyance--not even a movement of his suspended foot. Not until Judge Hayes had read the will to the last signature and tossed it back into his desk, did John speak. “If I have caught the gist of it,” he said, “my father has left me nearly all of his fortune--” “The greater part of it,” corrected the lawyer. “Which amounts to something less than three million dollars--” “Somewhat less, yes; considerably less.” “But that it is all trusteed,” John went on quite evenly, “so that I can’t touch a cent of it, except part of the income.” “Not without the express consent of the trustees,” said Judge Hayes. “The same conditions,” said John, with a faint smile, “which would apply to my touching your money. As I understand it, these three trustees are allowed the widest discretion; they may do with my property just what they think best--” The lawyer nodded. “Even to the extent of turning it over to me unconditionally.” Here the lawyer smiled. “Even to that extent,” he said. “They vote my bank stock just as though they owned it,” said John. “Precisely.” “Suppose they disagree?”