The Miserly Robot

Lowndes didn't like Nestor. For Nestor was a robot—managing his finances. And Nestor had only one thought in his brain: save money!
The old robot was one of the few remaining hand-made productions of the Rotulian era—an era which had seen each individually constructed robot reach the zenith in the various professional fields. An era totally unlike present-day Cornusia and its slip-shod electro-assembly line robotic productions. And indeed slip-shod were these productions, many Cornusians agreed. Loudly and indignantly they howled that the stupid Cornusian robots, conspicuous by their dress (multicolored sport coats, striped trousers, curling shoes and brightly feathered hats) did nothing but prance around all day and engage in horseplay.
Not so the old robot....
From that long-ago day when his final bolts had been lovingly tightened by grimy machinists and tabac-chewing electronicians, he had been fabulous. Even the Rotulian elders, accustomed as they were to robotic achievements, had been stunned by his rapid rise in the fields of finance and economics. And even the irascible bearded banker, Tesmit Lowndes, after an eighty year association with the robot in investment circles, would admit, although grudgingly if questioned, that the robot was sharp with a kredit.
Upon the early demise of the elder Lowndes (at age ninety, and there were raised eyebrows in Cornusian society at such an early departure) his will, officially striped in red and green and properly opened in the presence of the required seven witnesses was found to state unequivocally: It is my last testament, under the laws of Cornusia, that my longtime and good friend Nestor shall operate the finances of my estate for my son Harry, sole survivor, until.... And there followed, set down in tiny multitudinous lines of legal terminology peculiar to the age, the conditions and the length of the operation of the estate.
So it was that the robot Nestor became involved, through no fault of his own, with certain people who—