The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1896-05-20
MISS ABIGAIL'S WILL

"Yes, / shall certainly marry Agnes
Lane. She's pretty and accomplished,
and, better than all she's Miss Abigail
Flint's heiress. The old lady's worth
half a half million. Agnes is her
niece and only living relative, and
she'll get it all. A pretty girl with a
half million dover is not bad thing
TO take, ell, old fellow ~
Burke Norris stretched himself lazily
as he propounded the query, and stop
ped making cigar rings long enough to
eye his companion for a moment.
Claude Bentley's face was white, and
his dropping down moustache did not
wholly conceal the quiver of his lips.
"Do you love her?" he asked, little
huskily.
"Well-er-yes, I suppose so. But
then, it's not hard matter to love a
girl who will bring you fortune like
that. You see, it'sjust this way with
me, Claude That last deal in wheat
cramped the governor pretty badly,
and he's cut down my allowance. But
goodbye. I'll see you later on the
boardwalk
Burke Norris lazily arose, stretched
himself, and sauntered out on the park
of the Traymore, at which hotel he was
stopping couple ofweeks during those
balmy, spring-like days peculiar TO
Atlantic City in February.
His footsteps were still echoing down
the hotel hall when Claude Bently
sprang to his feet and began to pace
rapidly up and down the room.
"The selfish wretch" he cried under
his breath. a pretty husband he'll
make, and she thinks he loves her for
herself alone. | would lay down my
life for her, and, were she beggar,
would gladly take her TO my heart and
home and shower upon her the true
love of an honest man. But then that
can never be. Her old aunt is as proud
as Lucifer. She once told me to my
face that people in trade had no busi-
ness in society. Well, my two weeks
outing, on the whole, has been far from
enjoyable, for even the smiles that Ag-
mes Lane has deigned to give me have
been torture, for she has been brought
up i'm the same aristocratic school, and
now know how utterly conventional
they were. To her | am only the son
of the family grocer, and she probably
considers it great condescension on her
part to notice me at all. / think III
go back to Philadelphia"
He glanced at his watch, saw that he
had time TO catch the limited express
and walked away to pack his valise.
Meanwhile Agnes Lane, coming W
from a stroll along the boardwalk met
one of the hotel servants, who held in
his hand telegraphic envelope.
"The clerk said this was important
and / =" began the man, handing hel
the message.
He stopped suddenly, for Agnes Lane
had torn open the envelope, glanced
hurriedly at The message it contained
and wailing moan issued from hel
lips.
"Your Aunt Abigail is dead"
That is what she read, and though
she tried to control herself, tears o1
sincere, heartfelt grief sprang to hei
ewes, and all the sunshine and bright
ness seemed blotted out Of her life, fol
the old spinster, naughty though she
was, had had tender spot in her hear
which Agnes had filed completely.
When a few days later Miss Abigail
Flint's will was admitted TO probate il
was learned that the dead woman's
fortune would go TO a noble charity in
which she had been interested during
life. The old spinster had always been
eccentric, and the concluding para
graph of her will read as follows:
al give and bequeath TO my beloved
niece, Agnes Lane, my recipe for max
ing doughnuts, copy of which is in
the hands of my lawyer, and will bs
turned over to her by my executors.
Claude Bently, believing that Agnes
heart was another's, tried to forget al
about her, but he found that simply
J impossible. Her memory was con-