Idaho County free press., 1923-06-14
The Legacy Left
by Uncle John

By ANTHONY REIMERT
tp. 1sas. w..tern Nswspaper Unl0n.l

attended by horde OF relations.
Uncle John had lived forty years In
the little cottage at the end OF the
road. In his old age he had grown
grabbed and crafty and mean; he had
dismissed his old housekeeper and at
tended to his own wants until stricken
by his mortal illness.
Then his relatives swooped down
for everybody knew the old man was
wealthy. There were Brother James
and Brother Thomas, Sister Angelica,
Cousin Betsy, Cousin Matilda, and an
uncounted host of nephews and nieceS
vying with one another.
One brought him broth, one brought
him flowers, one looked after him on
Tuesdays and Saturdays, and another
on Wednesdays and Sundays. Sister
Angelica, with whom he had been
estranged for years, came In every
evening and there was an affecting
scene between them.
Who was his favorite? Niece Mary,
the local stenographer, who was near
ly forty, but happy in her Inevitable
spinsterhood. seemed to hold the OLD
mans heart more than any of the
others. They told Uncle John shock
ing stories about her, but Uncle John
seemed too far gone to take these
tales at their proper valuation.
They were as sweet as honey to the
old man, and pressed their rival
claims upon him. Cousin Matilda vas
a widow, with five children to bring
up. But Brother James thought that,
as head of the family, he should in
herit the bulk of Uncle Johns prop
erty.
Uncle John had certainly never had
such a time in his life as In those last
months. He lived upon jelly and
chicken, and his room was like hot
house. Uncle John incidentally de-
tested flowers. Niece Mary was the
only one who didn't give him expen-
siye presents, but then she only got
fifteen week, and 1t Is hard to be
generous on that amount Of money.
One night Uncle John quietly fell
asleep in death when nobody was near
him. Perhaps 1t was just as well.
They came in and found the old man
lying back upon his pillows, placid
smile upon his face.
'Tt's a mercy, after all he'd suffered
poor mani" was Cousin Matilda's YER
dict.
"Well, he lived long life II not
a merry one," soliloquized Brother
James.
And two problems perturbed them
| exceedingly: How much had Uncle
John left, and who was going to gel
the bulk Of It?
'T should say" said Brother Thorn
as, pursing his lips, shat my brother
was worth about forty thousand"
''Forty thousandT cried Brother
James. "How fur will that go among
us all7 OF course. amt suggesting
that John has left more'n a trifine
remembrancer to most Of EN-" hs
added.
The will was read the morning
after the old mans death. by thu
gray-haired lawyer, In the shabby lit
tie living room. .
ITO my brother, James. In acknowl
edgment of his headship of the ram
lily, fifty dollars"
The terrible silence was cut by
smckering laugh from Cousin Matilda
"To my brother. Thomas, in &C
acknowledgement of his kindness to
grabbed old man"
"Ahi" There was a universal sigh
So Thomas had got 1t, had he?"
"Twenty-five dollars"
This time everybody except thu
brothers burst out laughing.
ITO my sister, Angelica, my hous'
and its contents"
"Worth five hundred at the out
sldel" shifted Sister Angelica con
temptuously. "The mean old"
"Hushl Hush" cried the indignan
voices.
"To my cousins, Betsy and Matilda
and each of my nephews and nieces
except my niece, Mary, ten dollar
apiece"
Indignant, dagger-glances at Mary
| VINO sat dlOuc III OAC SOihSA Va -"
room.
"To my niece, Mary, the remainde
of my personal estate, together wit
my recipe for happiness"
How much? How muchf Their
, were agonizing looks at Mary. The
forgot to shake hands with her whe
they filed out.
1t was a little over two hundre
dollars. the lawyer informed Mary
little later. He handed her a lette
from her uncle, the envelope inscribe
"Reclpe for Happiness" Mar
opened 1t:
"My dear, 1 wish 1 could do NOR
for you But you follow this advic
and It'll be as good as money to 20
as long as you live. The next bes
, thing to having money is purtendins'