III
Paul lay in bed late the following morning. He was not much worried; he was out of a job, but he had been out of a job often before. He argued himself into feeling no shame at his discharge; after all, that was the natural end to any term of employment. He twisted and rolled in bed, holding his eyes shut, trying to hang onto sleep, but it finally escaped him.
He rose, dressed slowly, pushed over his ninety-eight cent alarm clock and walked down the stairs of his rooming-house.
"Mail, Mr. Manley!" called his landlady.
Paul glanced at the inscription of the envelope—"Beaks & Sipperman, Attorneys-at-law, 32 Nassau Street, New York City." Under his landlady's curious gaze he dropped it into his pocket.
He opened it in the cafeteria while eating his twenty-cent Club Breakfast.
Nov. 16th, 1920.
Dear Sir:
If you are the nephew of Henry Clay Manley, formerly of this city, we beg to inform you that your uncle died in August last in Omaha. The will is to be probated in this state, and our Mr. Beaks is nominated as executor and trustee. As you are the only heir-at-law of the testator, and are also a beneficiary under said trust, we request that you call upon us at your first convenience to receive citation and to be advised of your interest. Your uncle left a considerable estate.
Ask for our Mr. Beaks.
Very truly yours.
"Uncle Harry!" exclaimed Paul with shining eyes. "After all the letters I wrote him asking him to do something for me, and getting nothing out of him but hot air and advice, he dies and leaves me his fortune! Well, that is what I call handsome of him!"
He did not know his uncle Harry personally; Henry Clay Manley had gone to the West before Paul was born, and had never revisited New York. Paul had then no sentiment toward him, other than the anomalous kindliness which anyone must feel toward a stranger who has been good enough to die and leave him money. He was even able to see that his uncle had shown foresight and wisdom in turning down his begging letters.
He scalded his mouth with hot coffee, and ran from the lunchroom to the subway kiosk. He saved a nickel by running the three blocks; he saved another nickel by dropping into the turnstile at the station a metal slug which a shifty-eyed street fakir had sold him at six for five, and which was as good as a nickel for all the purposes of the Transit Company, save one. Paul beat his fare when he could, and refused to see harm in it; it cost the traction company nothing extra to carry him, whereas paying his fare would have made to him the poignant difference of a nickel.
He entered the Mutual Life building at 32 Nassau Street and wandered through the ramifying halls of that commodious and old-fashioned structure until he founda door upon whose ground glass was letteredBeaks & Sipperman.
Mr. Beaks was at his piled desk in his private room. He was a big, old man with faded blue eyes; his manner was suave and cold.
"I'm in conference, Miss Prouty, until Mr. Manley leaves," he said to the office-girl. "Don't disturb me. Sit here, Mr. Manley."
He picked a red-ribboned document from a pigeonhole, snapped it open, stared at it, and blew through his lips softly and reflectively.
"This is your uncle's will. Did you know him very well?"
"Never saw him. He always lived out West."
"It's an unusual will, Mr. Manley. Did you ever write to your uncle, asking money of him?"
"More than once," grinned Paul.
"Yes; he left a queer will, and I'm not very thankful to him for making me trustee. However—he was an old friend. There's a trust provision here, Mr. Manley, for your benefit—or for the benefit of the Platte County Home for the Feeble-minded, as the event may prove. Your uncle's estate, Mr. Manley, should amount to ninety-five or one hundred thousand dollars after debts, funeral expenses, inheritance taxes, etc., have been paid. Are you working?"
"Not just now."
"What salary were you getting last?"
"Seventeen dollars per week."
"Listen to this clause, Mr. Manley:
"I have given much thought to the question of my responsibility toward my sister's son, Paul Manley, of the City and State of New York, who is my nearest relative and my only heir-at-law. It has seemed to me that this, my nephew, was an idle and worthless youth; nevertheless I feel that I should fail in my duty toward him, and toward the memory of my beloved sister, if I should make no provision for him in this my last will and testament.
"I do therefore ordain as a first charge upon the trust fund, that my said nephew shall receive monthly during the term of his natural life a sum equal to the monthly wage, salary or income which he is earning at any honest employment. So that my said nephew may make fullest avail of this bequest, I direct that the earned income above referred to shall be the earned income of which he is in receipt eighteen months after he has been given personal notice of the terms of this provision. After my said nephew's decease, the principal of the trust fund with accumulations shall be paid over to thePlatte County Home for the Feeble-minded, on the single condition that the name of that institution be changed toThe Henry Clay Manley Memorial.
"So far," continued Mr. Beaks, looking over his spectacles at Paul, "we have plain sailing. You have now been put on notice. Eighteen months from today payments to you will begin, on the basis of the salary you are then earning."
"How much could I get?" breathed Paul.
"Between five and six thousand per year; between four and five hundred dollars per month."
Paul's eyes dilated. "But how am I to live until then?"
"You might begin to earn it."
"Work!" exclaimed Paul indignantly. "With all that money coming to me?"
"Your uncle," said Beaks, removing his glasses to polish them leisurely, "seems to have understood your bent of mind. You may work little or much as you please. But you will receive a stipend equal only to the income you are earning from honest work eighteen months hence! I see that term is ungrateful to you, here is one which you may like better:
"The above provision is upon the express term and condition that my said nephew shall engage in no remunerative work after he begins to receive this income from the trust fund. There shall be deducted from the payments to be made him sums equal to any moneys which he shall be receiving from any other sources; so that, to take full advantage of this provision for him, my said nephew shall be required to abandon all efforts to support himself, and to engage in no remunerative work whatsoever.
"In other words," said Beaks, "you are debarred from earning your own living so long as you take this money; you are expressly forbidden to work!"
"Is there anything else?" asked Paul, wondering why Beaks paused.
"You have no objection to that?"
"Of course not! You don't think I'd be fool enough to work if I didn't have to, do you? That's only common sense, that part. Up to six thousand per year—why, say, I'll live in clover!"
"Your confidence is inspiring," said Beaks in a tone that was slightly nasal. "There is one further provision, covering the contingency that you will refuse to accept the proposed annuity according to its terms."
"You need not bother to read that part, Mr. Beaks," said Paul politely.
But Beaks proceeded to read it, unheeding:
"If my said nephew shall refuse to accept the said beneficial interest according to its terms, he shall receive nothing whatever from my estate, but my entire estate shall be divided, share and share alike, among the institutions named in the sealed letter of instructions which will be found in my vault of deposit and which will be given unopened to my executor and trustee. To avoid raising expectations which might be disappointed, and to prevent any attempt at collusion between my said nephew and possibly venal officials of these institutions or any of them, I hereby enjoin and direct my said executor and trustee to preserve this letter of instructions inviolate and unopened until my said nephew shall, at the end and termination of the said period of eighteen months, have definitely refused and rejected the above mentioned life-estate in the trust fund."
"When I do," nodded Paul. "Believe me, if they are going to wait until I throw that easy money over my shoulder they are going to wait!"
"There is the letter to which the will refers," said Beaks, pointing to the pigeonhole. "As it is to all effects and purposes a part of this will, it should be proven with the will; the Surrogate may decide that the institutions referred to are entitled to citation. On the other hand, the will vests me with the power of sale during the eighteen months, so that there is no suspension of the power of alienation. We may have to withhold the will from probate until the end of the eighteen-month period.
"However," he said, sitting up to his desk again, "these worries do not interest you! I shall find a way to carry out my old friend's wishes. Good day, Mr. Manley! Don't forget to come here eighteen months from today, and after you have formally accepted the bequest I shall commence to pay you seventeen dollars a week."
"Seventeen dollars per week!"
"Unless the wage-level should fall, Mr. Manley, as some economists predict. After having had the pleasure of knowing you, it seems to me highly improbable that I shall be required to pay you more."
"Well," said Paul, suddenly troubled, "it will be a whole lot more than that—but—where in thunder am I to get a job that will pay me five or six thousand per year?"
"That is for you to discover," said Beaks, smiling moonishly at him through his glasses. "You will certainly be a very exceptional young man if you get it. Here is a copy of the will. Ponder it. Digest it. Note the provision that the trust is to lapse as to you if you contest it. You have my best wishes, and I am sure that you had the best wishes of your uncle, as well as his lively distrust. You have eighteen months during which you may fix the income you shall receive during the lifetime of inactivity whose prospect seems to please you. You may call me up, if there is anything I can explain. Good day!"
He picked up his desk telephone. "The conference is ended, Miss Prouty," he said.