In brief. “To my son Jessop Reed, the interest of twenty-one thousand pounds, two and a half per cent, bank-stock, to be paid to him during the term of his life quarterly by my executors, the aforesaid Peter Praed and Clive Reed, the capital sum of twenty-one thousand pounds reverting at the death of my said son Jessop Reed to my estate.”
“Exactly what I expected,” said Jessop, with a smile of indifference. “Five hundred a year, eh?”
“About, sir,” said the old lawyer gravely. Then, after sitting attent, as if expecting another question, he coughed again, and went on.
“I give and bequeath to my son, Clive Reed, the whole of my interest in the ‘White Virgin’ mine, together with everything of which I die possessed in shares, bank-stocks, freehold and leasehold property, begging him that he will act in his possession thereof as a true and just man, and the steward of a large estate committed to his charge. I do this believing that he will carry out my wishes in connection with the said property for his own benefit, as well as for that of many friends who have embarked their money in my last enterprise, the aforesaid ‘White Virgin’ mine.”
The lawyer read the few remaining words connected with the signature amidst a murmur of congratulations, in the midst of which Jessop started up, black with fury and disappointment.
“Shame!” he cried. “I protest!” and a dead silence fell.
“May I ask why, sir?” said the lawyer coldly. “My deceased friend has done more than his duty by you.”
“Your words are uncalled-for and insolent, sir,” cried Jessop. “Recollect that you are only a paid professional man.”
“And Grantham Reed’s trusted confidential friend, sir. Dr Praed and I were the two men to whom he opened his heart—eh, Doctor?”
“Yes, in all things.”