"The rest of the document, if you insist upon a digest, consists principally of directions to the trustees. Briefly, it provides that we invest the remainder of the property in safe bonds and apply the interest to meet taxes on the aforesaid paternal domicile, to retain and pay the wages of the necessary servants, to furnish fuel and water, and to maintain the house in proper repair." "Well, go on." "In case of your demise--" "You may skip my demise; I'm not especially interested in that." "Then I think we have covered all the more important provisions," Barton concluded. "All?" exclaimed Don. "What do you think I'm going to live on?" Here was the clash for which Barton had been waiting. His face hardened, and he shoved back his chair a little. "I am not able to find any provision in the will relating to that," he answered. "Eh? But what the deuce--" For a moment Don stared open-mouthed at the lawyer. Then he reached in his pocket for his cigarettes, selected one with some deliberation, and tapped an end upon the case. "You said Dad had considerable sentiment," he observed. "It strikes me he has shown more humor than sentiment." Barton was still aggressive. To tell the truth, he expected some suggestion as to the possibility of breaking the will; but if ever he had drawn a paper all snug and tight, it was the one in question. "Damme," Pendleton, Sr., had said. "Damme, Barton, if the lad is able to break the will, I'll rise in my grave and haunt you the rest of your days." If the boy wished to test the issue, Barton was ready for him. But the boy's thoughts seemed to be on other things. "I suppose," mused Pendleton, Jr., "I suppose it was that freshman scrape that worried him." "I was not informed of that," replied Barton. "It made good reading," the young man confided. "But, honest, it was not so bad as the papers made it out. Dad was a good sport about it, anyhow. He cleared it up and let me go on." "If you will allow me to advance an opinion,--a strictly personal opinion,--it is that Mr. Pendleton devised the entire will with nothing else but your welfare in mind. He had a good deal of pride, and desired above all things to have you retain the family home. If I remember correctly, he said you were the last lineal descendant." Don nodded pleasantly. "The last. Kind of looks as if he wanted me to remain the last." "On the contrary," ventured Barton, "I think he hoped you might marry and--" "Marry?" broke in Don. "Did you say _marry?_" "I even understood, from a conversation with your father just before his death, that you--er--were even then engaged. Am I mistaken?" "No; that's true enough. But say--look here." The young man reached in his pocket and brought forth a handful of crumpled bills and loose change. He counted it carefully. "Twelve dollars and sixty-three cents," he announced. "What do you think Frances Stuyvesant will say to that?" Barton refrained from advancing an opinion.