Through the long vigils of the night cousin Cæsar sat by the side of the dying man; before the sun had silvered the eastern horizon, the soul of young Simon was with his fathers. The day was consumed in making preparations for the last, honor due the dead. Cousin Cæsar arranged with a party to take the remains to Arkansas, and place the son by the side of the father, on the home plantation. The next morning as cousin Cæsar was scanning the morning papers, the following brief notice attracted his attention: “Young Simon, the wealthy young cotton planter, who died in the city yesterday, left by his last will and testament his whole estate, worth more than a million of dollars, to Roxie Daymon, a young lady of this city.”
Cousin Cæsar was bewildered and astonished. He was a stranger in the city; he rubbed his hand across his forehead to collect his thoughts, and remembered No. 77 Strait street. “Yes I observed it—it is a law office,” he said mentally, “there is something in that number seventy-seven, I have never understood it before, since my dream on the steam carriage seventy-seven,” and cousin Cæsar directed his steps toward Strait street.
“Important business, I suppose sir,” said Governor Mo-rock, as he read cousin Cæsar's anxious countenance.
“Yes, somewhat so,” said cousin Cæsar, pointing to the notice in the paper, he continued: “I am a relative of Simon and have served him faithfully for two years, and they say he has willed his estate to a stranger.”
“Is it p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e-,” said the Governor, affecting astonishment.
“What would you advise me to do?” said cousin Cæsar imploringly.
“Break the will—break the will, sir,” said the Governor emphatically.
“Ah! that will take money,” said cousin Cæsar sadly.
“Yes, yes, but it will bring money,” said the Governor, rubbing his hands together.
“I s-u-p p-o-s-e we would be required to prove incapacity on the part of Simon,” said cousin Cæsar slowly.