VII
"Mr. Manley," said the office-girl.
"Show him in," said Mr. Beaks, glancing at the calendar which showed a date in May, 1922.
Paul and Molly entered. Paul looked nervous but determined; Molly wore that look of tranquil beatitude which the world cannot give to a girl, unless it has first given her an engagement ring with a genuine solitaire diamond in it. She was wearing the ring, and not trying to hide it.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Beaks," said Paul. "Miss Hazeltine—Mr. Beaks!"
Chairs were taken.
"I suppose you have come in regard to the trust under your uncle's will," said Beaks, reaching into the pigeonhole for the red-ribboned document. "May I ask you, Mr. Manley, what salary you are receiving?"
"Thirty-two dollars per week. I'm manager of one of Hepp's Bargain Basements, up in Harlem."
"Indeed! That is a great improvement over an earning capacity of seventeen dollars per week, and no employment. I congratulate you, Mr. Manley! You must have worked hard and steadily during the past eighteen months."
"I worked," nodded Paul curtly. He did not like Beaks.
"You are coming into a very nice thing," purred Beaks. "Thirty-two dollars per week for the term of your natural life! Many lawyers don't net that much, Mr. Manley. You should be able to live very nicely on it."
"Listen to me," said Paul gruffly. "That part about my not working any more; I've been talking that over with Miss Hazeltine here, and we've decided to make you a proposition! I'm a business man, and I'm talking business. I can make a whole lot more than thirty-two dollars per week later on, but on the other hand I don't see why I should have to lose all that money. I'll take half of it—sixteen dollars a week—and the Feeble-minded Home can have the other sixteen—providing you take out that part about my not working! Come, is that fair?"
"A very fair proposition," said Mr. Beaks, polishing his glasses with his bandanna. "I should certainly advise the officials of the Home to accept it, if it rested with me. But, unfortunately, Mr. Manley, I am simply a trustee, and I must abide by the terms of the trust instrument which created me. I have no discretion. You must take thirty-two dollars per week, with the stipulation that if you earn any money it will be deducted—or you must take nothing. As the will is drawn, and as I construe it, you must make your final and binding decision today.
"I beg to point out to you that you have no reason to feel harshly toward your uncle. You have already received incalculable benefits from his provision for you. When you came here eighteen months ago, you would have taken your then salary of seventeen dollars per week and you would very willingly have refrained from ever working again. You will pardon me if I say that you were at that time unfit to be given money; you were idle,unambitious, and I think, rather dissipated. I am an old man, Mr. Manley, and an old lawyer, and I have seen many times the deplorable effects of freeing young men from the discipline of honest work. You have had now before you for eighteen months an incentive to do your best—the hope of never having to work again. You now confront the fact that you don't want what you strove so hard to get. That's a common human experience, Mr. Manley. I can do nothing for you; if you refuse to accept this money according to its terms, it must all go to the institutions named in the letter of instruction here."
Paul looked into Molly's eyes, and then he straightened.
"I'm not going to take it," he said.
"This is your final decision?"
"It is. I'm not a bum; I can make my own living. When I can't—why, then I'll move into the Home for the Feeble-minded!"
"Oh, Paul!" cried Molly. "I'm so glad!"
"Allow me to congratulate you again, my boy," said Beaks, rising and clasping Paul's hand. "I'm sure you've done exactly what your uncle hoped. If you took this money it would have ruined you, or, better, it would have proven you lazy and worthless. Your uncle was a shrewd and penetrating man of affairs; in this matter he has shown no feeble-mindedness worthy of commemoration."
He bowed the young couple out.
They had entered the hall, and were waiting for an elevator, when the office-girl came running out to them.
"Mr. Beaks wants you again, please!"
They re-entered the law office. Beaks waved them to chairs, and continued his study of the letter of instructions, which he had opened upon their leaving.
They waited in silence.
He turned abruptly, and thrust, into Paul's hand the single sheet of heavy paper which had been contained in the letter of instructions. Upon it, in pen and ink, were these words only:
Institutions referred to in my will which are to receive the principal of my estate upon my only nephew's refusal to accept trust provision.
NONE.
Henry Clay Manley.
"What—what does it mean?" asked Paul.
"It means," said Mr. Beaks, "that your uncle died intestate, except for the provision for the payment of funeral expenses, debts, taxes and my fees. The trust has terminated, and I am now required to pay over the principal to the rightful heirs. Inasmuch as he has made no disposition of his estate, it must go according to the Table of Descent."
"To whom?"
"To you, Mr. Manley!" said Mr. Beaks. "You are the only heir-at-law. Your uncle had the right to leave the money elsewhere, but he has not done so."
"Then I'm to get the whole thing," muttered Paul dazedly. "I—I don't understand this. Don't joke with me. I don't believe it. Six thousand per year! No, no. Are you telling me the truth? Molly, you heard him? Prove it to me. Give me five hundred dollars!"
"Currency?"
"Yes, real money."
They watched Beaks bending down before his safe, and twirling the knob, and methodically counting a sheaf of greenbacks.
"Here it is, Mr. Manley. And I wish to say——"
He stared after them. Paul had caught Molly by the hand and was hurrying with her to the door.
He bundled her into an elevator, and then pulled her out into Nassau Street.
"What's the matter, Paul?" she cried, joyously but perplexedly.
"The Municipal Building closes at four o'clock!" he said, urging her on. "If we don't get there in ten minutes, we can't get the marriage license today! No, tomorrow won't do! Hurry up, Molly, can't you run a little faster? I've had dreams like this before, and I'm not going to sleep again until this one comes true!"
Labor troubles in the building trades are not as modern as most people think. A recently discovered Egyptian inscription records the fact that the laborers employed on one of the pyramids struck and refused to go on with the work unless their daily ration of onions was increased. They won the strike.