“I don’t just know, but Mr. Chester—he’s the lawyer—says it’s a most peculiar will. Oh, Dick, am I really awake?” and I pinched him on the arm.
“You can’t tell whether you’re awake by pinching me,” he protested. “But I guess you are, all right. You seem a little delirious though—got any fever?”
“Only the fever of excitement, Dick,” I said. “How can you keep so cool about it? I think it’s wonderful!”
“What’s wonderful?”
“Why, the legacy—of course it’s a legacy, Dick. We’re her only living relatives! And she lived in a big, old-fashioned house, which she inherited from her husband. I never thought of grandaunt as having a husband,” I added, reflectively. “I wonder what sort of man he was.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” retorted Dick. “What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t matter. Only, if grandaunt—” But I didn’t finish the uncharitable sentence. “And, oh, Dick, if it comes true, you can go on and graduate—you won’t have to go to work.”
“But I want to go to work,” said Dick, and his face was quite gloomy, as we turned in at the gate together.
Chapter III
The Problem
It was only an hour’s run to the little station of Fanwood, which is as near as one can get to Plumfield by rail; and there Mr. Chester had a carriage waiting for us, and we drove over to the little village a mile away, where Grandaunt Nelson had lived nearly all her life. The road was a pleasant one, winding between well-kept hedges, and just rolling enough to give one occasional views of the country round about. In the distance, to the west, we could see a range of hills, and Mr. Chester told us that from their summit, on a clear day, one could see the ocean, forty or fifty miles away to the eastward.