“Hold it up to the light,” Nettie Cranning said. “That’s the way to tell. The grease would have soaked into the paper by this time.”
Bertha Cool, turned back the heavy blue backing on the will, held the second page up to the light. The oil had soaked through in a spot about the size of a dime.
It immediately became apparent that oil had soaked through in a spot about the size of a dime on the paper.
Josephine Dell said, “Well, I feel better about it now, because I distinctly remembered that grease spot.”
Bertha Cool said, “Now, I’m going to say something. I’m going to have a photographer come out here and make a photograph of this will while everybody’s here. I think we’re entitled to that much.”
“Personally,” Mrs. Cranning said with the suddenly assumed dignity of a woman who has inherited wealth and is making a painfully conscious effort to be a lady. “I think that is a very admirable suggestion, most compatible.”
“You mean commendable, Mother,” Eva said.
Mrs. Cranning drew herself up to her full dignity as a woman of wealth. “I said compatible, Eva, dear.”
Bertha Cool went over to the telephone and started dialing a number.
While she was waiting she said, “Subscribing witnesses can’t take under a will, Mrs. Cranning.”