“Would any jury believe you, or believe that I believed you?”
Walter flushed and looked indignantly at his brother. “You offered to shield me for what I did when I was a boy. I was younger than you—hardly more than a child. Now you want to punish me after making me accept your offer. It ain’t like you, Jim!”
“More like father, ain’t it?” said James, sadly. “But—I can’t do otherwise, Walt. I’m only helping you to do what’s just—what’s merely decent.”
“You are trying to destroy our father’s life-work!”
“No—not his life-work. I can’t do that. I wish I could. I wish I could destroy it even in myself. No, all I can hope to do is to paralyse his dead hand—that awful hand he has plotted to keep on ruling and ruining with for generations. And I will!”
“You sha’n’t do it, Jim Galloway!” exclaimed Walter, in a burst of fury. He stood and waved his arms in a gesture as weak as it was wild. “I won’t let you. I won’t be cheated. I won’t! I won’t!”
“Let’s send for your wife and see what she thinks,” said James.
Walter gasped and sank into his chair. “No!” he muttered. “This is between you and me.” Then, with tears in his eyes, he added: “You ought to be ashamed to take advantage of me. And after letting me alone and letting me get used to the idea! I didn’t think you were mean and a coward.”
“I admit I’m doing right in the wrong way—but it’s the only way open to me. The will must be broken.” James rose to go. “Don’t let’s quarrel, Walter. You know what’s honest and right; I’ve told you what I shall do. Think it over. Talk it over with your wife. Either keep your equal share, and devote the rest to a memorial to mother—colleges, hospitals—anything—or else divide all equally among us four. Be sensible, Walt—think what a hell his money and his ideas made for himself and for the rest of us. If you get only your equal share, you’ll have hard enough work keeping from not being like—him. Be sensible, Walt—and be decent!”
And he left the room and the house; and a huge wave of that suffocating-sweet perfume of funeral flowers poured out through the opened street-door after him as if to overwhelm him—like subtle hate on stealthy murder bent.