“This much,” replied her husband, smiling. “Our minds are relieved on one point, at least. Kellam & Blake are respectable attorneys. We will send our communication to Mr. Blake at once, without waiting for Mr. Bludsoe's enquiries to bear fruit. Your Cousin Adair knows the Scotch firm, and of course vouches for their trustworthiness.”
“Dear me, Papa Sherwood, you are so practical!” sighed Nan. She meant “vexing;” they were interchangeable terms to her mind at this exciting point. “Can't you work up any enthusiasm over Momsey's wonderful fortune?”
“Its existence is established, it would seem, beyond peradventure,” said Mr. Sherwood drily. “But our attempt to obtain the fortune is not yet begun.”
“Why, ee!” squealed Nan. “You don't really suppose anybody will try to keep Momsey from getting it?”
“Exactly that,” said her father. “The Blakes are a widely scattered clan. There are probably a number of people as close in blood-tie to the old man who has just died as your mother, my dear. These people may all bob up, one after another, to dispute Momsey's claim.”
“But, dear me!” gasped Nan. “The money was willed to Momsey.”
“Nevertheless, these other relatives, if there be such—can keep Momsey out of the enjoyment of her rights for a long time. Court processes are slow, and especially so, I should judge, among the canny and careful Scotch. I think we would better leave it to the lawyers to settle. We cannot hasten the courts by worrying over the fortune.
“I think,” pursued Papa Sherwood judiciously, “that instead of spending our time discussing and dreaming of the fortune in Scotland, we would better go right on with our tasks here as though there were really no fortune at all.”
“Oh, my!” whispered Nan, her eyes clouding. “That's because of my last fortnightly report. I know I fell behind in history and rhetoric.”
“Don't be too hard on us, Papa Sherwood,” said Momsey brightly. “Anticipation is more than half of every pleasure. I lie awake every night and spend this great fortune of ours to the very last penny.”