Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1908-02-13
hall, and she sang sentimental and
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bring your friends upstairs you might
do better than sit in corner, and
look as glum and grumpy as an under
taker at his own funeral. Unless
you've had too much wine."
"Yes," her husband replied, 1T Is all
over, my dear. Now we can go back
to the fun of the old days again"
"what do you mean" she asked,
sleeplly.
"And to Stockwell again, If you like"
"What do you mean, Jem" She
was wide awake now.
"And to the jolly old days of fighting
the landlord"
"Jem"-she turned quite pale, for
her husbands face was serious
"Jem! for heavens sake, what has
happened? Has will turned up!
"WOrse than that"
"Have you been losing the money,
betting?"
"Worse than that Harriet"
"What-worSe"
"The very Worst the most unlucky
thing in the world. Harriet, he isn't
dead after ALL"
"Not dead! Tom not dead" She
clutched the back Of a chair with both
hands. "Not dead?"
"Tom has turned up again, none the
worse. He has only been a prisoner
among the Arabs, and he got back
safe. 1 don't quite know how long 1t
takes to get from Suakim to London,
but we may be pretty certain that
he'll cover that distance in the short
est time on record"
"Ohw There was a conscientious. q
heartfelt ring about the interjectiOn.
The deepest grief, the most profund
despair. the most bitter helplessness-
all were there.
"Well, Harriet" her husband con.
tnued, cts no use shutting our eyes.
Out we go, my dear. We needn't 60
just yet; when Tom comes home he
shall find us keeping the house warm
because we couldn't get tenant; and
as for what we have spent, trust me
for running up bill of costs, and
throwing dust in his eyes"
"Jem, you are fool"
"Why, my dearF
"What does it matter about the
past? It's the future-oh my God, 1t
is the future. What shall we dog
Jem, who had been walking abO,t
the room, sat down and faced her with
a look of bewilderment.
81 don't know, Harriet. II / only
pull through this business-why it's
d" She understood not one word
of what he meant. Good heavens!
If I pull through-it seems hardly TO
matter what becomes of us after.
wards"
"We shall have to 60 back to the
old wretched, miserable life. Where
are we to find the money even to pay
the rent? We've got no furniture;
we've got no money; we've got no
practice-oh! Jem-Jem-how are we
to live"
She sank into chair and gasped.
Her husband was still occupied with
his view of the situation.
"The future may take care Of 1t.
self Harriet. It's the past that
look at. Nobody can prove that knew
that girl to be the heiress; thank good
ness, that can't come out. Very wei,
then-let us face the situation. Tom
was dead. Before Tom went away
he gave me a power of attorney.
Well, / am the natural heir. l adve:.
tlsed for the heir-at-law of Captain
Willoughby Capel, and no one replied
Then Tom was Killed. naturally
succeeded-I am his only cousin. on
that side Then he comes home
again, | say to him, Tom - my deai
Did Tom'-being much affected-'how
glad l am to restore all to you! The
heir can not be found, and you had
better sit down and enjoy the fortune
If he does, / have got the knife into
him, because the trust money ought
to 60 back to Miss Willoughby's heirs
If he does not, he will make me the
solicitor, and if know my way about
some of that money shall stick"
"What are you talking about? What
girl? What trust?"
"Well, Harriet, there was no use tell
ing you; but IL you hadn't been wo
man you would have asked few
question about the sudden accession
You see, am one of the heirs to
Toms estate-no one can get over that
one of them, and the others are in
New Zealand-but it's loaded with q
trust. and we did not know to whom
that trust ought to be handed ovei
lust when we went away. Well, you
see, first of all, promised Tom sol
emnly that what was left when thai
trust was paid should be given to
his girl"
"You promised to give away your
own?"
you're a fool, Harriet. 1t wasn't
my own. 1t was his. If I hadn't
promised he would have made a will
on the voyage, and given 1t to her
Besides, didn't put that promise into
writing. Well, after Tom went away
found that even IL this trust money
was paid there would be an uncom
mon tidy bit left. So of course
wasn't going to regard such promise
as binding-not likely"
"Well, and did you pay the trust?'
"No, didn't. You see, my dear
there's this certain fact about the
trust, that not soul knows anything
about it except Tom and me. II
should go to the heirs Of man who Il
dead; If not, 1t would have to revert
to the heirs of the original donor. Very
good. The awkward thing is that
haven't paid it to either; and now
Tom is come back and there will bt
the devil to pay"