“Why, yes,” he answered, “why not? I always understood that Jack would have the estate on his father’s death. There’s been no change, has there? Jack hasn’t been cut off in any way?”
Doctor Morrison shook his head. “No,” he answered, “nothing like that, exactly; but suppose I have nothing, and give you all I have; that doesn’t do you such a tremendous lot of good.”
Helmar’s expression sufficiently showed his astonishment. “You don’t mean it!” he cried. “Why, that can’t be so! I always understood from every one that Edward Carleton was a very rich man. Why, just look at his place, for one thing; it can’t be so.”
Doctor Morrison shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the same old story,” he said, “you know yourself how often it happens, and how surprised people are on a man’s death to find how comparatively little he has. Sometimes, of course, you’ll find it just reversed, and the man that’s rated at fifty thousand dies worth half a million. But that’s the exception, these days, and the other’s the rule. For one man that scrapes and saves, there are a dozen who live on a big scale, spend their income to the last cent, and maybe draw on the principal, too. And Edward Carleton spent money very freely, I suppose.”
Helmar looked entirely unconvinced. “Well, suppose he did,” he answered, “admit that he did, even; for he did give a lot to charity and things like that; I know that for a fact. But even then—think of the different enterprises he was in in his day, and practically all big, successful ones. Oh, it can’t be that he left nothing; it’s an impossibility.”
Doctor Morrison shook his head. “No, sir, it’s true,” he replied, “I’m not speculating about it; I know it positively, because I got it from Henry Carleton’s own lips. He surely ought to know, if any one does, and he’d hardly care to publish the fact if it wasn’t really so. He’s a most remarkable man, Helmar. I’ve always admired him, but I don’t think I ever really quite appreciated him before. Sometimes I seemed to find him a little self-centered, a little too sure of himself, if you know what I mean. But I know better now, for what he’s done in his brother’s case is really as fine a thing as you ever heard. It seems that the old gentleman had always managed his own affairs, but about a year ago he came to Henry and asked him to take charge of everything for him. I suppose he felt that he was getting a little out of touch with things, perhaps; anyway, whether he suspected it or not, the sequel proved that he’d managed to put matters off a little too long. He had some very unfortunate investments, and he’d looked out for lots of other people ahead of himself, and the long and short of it was that when the panic blew along, it simply wiped Edward Carleton off the map.”
Helmar nodded grudgingly. “Well, on those facts, I can understand it, then,” he replied. “But I always thought he was too conservative a man to get caught in anything like that. He had plenty of company, though.”
“No doubt of that,” Doctor Morrison assented, “and then what do you suppose Henry Carleton did? Straightened out what was left of the wreck as well as he could, told the old gentleman that everything was all right, and has kept the estate going ever since, letting him have whatever he wanted, right out of his own pocket, and without a word to any one that things were any different from what they always had been. He’s even kept on paying Jack the allowance his father gave him, and that, too, after he and Jack had had another row, more serious than any that had gone before. And he’d have kept on like that, he told me, if the old gentleman had lived ten years instead of one. If that isn’t doing one’s duty, in the best sense of the word, I’d like to have you tell me what is.”
For a moment, Helmar did not reply. To all that Doctor Morrison had said he had listened with the closest attention. “He told you all this himself, you say?” he queried at length.
At once the doctor felt the unspoken criticism in his tone. “And why not?” he retorted. “This has been a time of great strain for him, and we were together there for the rest of the night. At a time like that a man’s tongue is loosened perhaps a little more than usual.”