“For shame, Bessie!” spoke up Miss Flora, with unusual sharpness for her. “I think your mother is just right. I’m sure the least we can do in return for this wonderful gift is to show our respect and appreciation by going into the very deepest black we can. I’m sure I’d be glad to.”
“Wait!” Mrs. Harriet had drawn her brows together in deep thought. “I’m not sure, after all, that it would be best. The letter did not say that dear Cousin Stanley had died—he just hadn’t been heard from. In that case, I don’t think we ought to do it. And it would be too bad—that Gaylord dance is going to be the biggest thing of the season, and of course if we were in black—No; on the whole, I think we won’t, Bessie. Of course, in two years from now, when we get the rest, it will be different.”
“When you—what?” It was a rather startled question from Mr. Smith.
“Oh, didn’t you know? There’s another letter to be opened in two years from now, disposing of the rest of the property. And he was worth millions, you know, millions!”
“But maybe he—er—Did it say you were to—to get those millions then?”
“Oh, no, it didn’t say it, Mr. Smith.” Mrs. Harriet Blaisdell’s smile was a bit condescending. “But of course we will. We are his kinsmen. He said we were. He just didn’t give it all now because he wanted to give himself two more years to come back in, I suppose. You know he’s gone exploring. And, of course, if he hadn’t come back by then, he would be dead. Then we’d get it all. Oh, yes, we shall get it, I’m sure.”
“Oh-h!” Mr. Smith settled back in his chair. He looked somewhat nonplused.
“Humph! Well, I wouldn’t spend them millions—till I’d got ’em, Hattie,” advised her brother-in-law dryly.
“I wasn’t intending to, Frank,” she retorted with some dignity. “But that’s neither here nor there. What we’re concerned with now is what to do with what we have got. Even this will make a tremendous sensation in Hillerton. It ought to be written up, of course, for the papers, and by some one who knows. We want it done just right. Why, Frank, do you realize? We shall be rich—RICH—and all in a flash like this! I wonder what the Pennocks will say now about Mellicent’s not having money enough for that precious son of theirs! Oh, I can hardly believe it yet. And it’ll mean—everything to us. Think what we can do for the children. Think—”
“Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane, is ma here?” Wide open banged the front door as Benny bounded down the hall. “Oh, here you are! Say, is it true? Tommy Hooker says our great-grandfather in Africa has died an’ left us a million dollars, an’ that we’re richer’n Mr. Pennock or even the Gaylords, or anybody! Is it true? Is it?”