“He won’t take it back?”
“Of course not! I doubt if he could, if he wanted to.”
“And we’re really going to have a whole hundred thousand dollars?” breathed Mellicent.
“I reckon you are—less the inheritance tax, perhaps.”
“What’s that? What do you mean?” demanded Mrs. Jane. “Do you mean we’ve got to pay because we’ve got that money?”
“Why, y-yes, I suppose so. Isn’t there an inheritance tax in this State?”
“How much does it cost?” Mrs. Jane’s lips were at their most economical pucker. “Do we have to pay a great deal? Isn’t there any way to save doing that?”
“No, there isn’t,” cut in her husband crisply. “And I guess we can pay the inheritance tax—with a hundred thousand to pay it out of. We’re going to spend some of this money, Jane.”
The telephone bell in the hall jangled its peremptory summons, and Mr. Frank answered it. In a minute he returned, a new excitement on his face.
“It’s Hattie. She’s crazy, of course. They’re coming right over.”