"Things? Why, I had come into that home with a busted head and not a penny in my pocket. The very clothes that I wore belonged to the county. Except for the little drawing tools I had, you could have put all of my things in a thimble. Yet I was the richest man in Springfield.
"I lived in that room four happy blessed years. They were years of few incidents and no friction. Mrs. Lannarck bought me a complete outfit of clothing, and she was as particular about the details as if it were a bride's trousseau. She even provided me with a weekly allowance, small, to be sure, but there was nothing I needed. I kept right on at school and helped around the house wherever I could. I kept Mr. Lannarck's books, made out his estimates, and drafted his plans. I checked up his payrolls, met his workmen, and his banker. I even met the judge of the court when they adopted me and changed my name.
"I went to church with Mrs. Lannarck, went to Sunday School, and took part in the entertainments. They insisted I was a drawing card and they featured the appearance of a midget on the program. It was all right by me if it met the approval of the Lannarcks.
"During the war, the committee featured me in the Bond Drives. There was a big fellow I teamed up with, named George Ruark. He was nearly a seven-footer and weighed three hundred. I could stand in his two hands as he held them in front of him and urged everybody to back up the war as strongly as I was backed. It made a hit; it got results.
"And then inevitable but unwanted death stalked in, to ruin everything. Mister Lannarck died. He was older than I had thought. He was always careful and honest. He was putting a new roof on the Auditorium when he fell. Maybe it was a stroke. They took him to the hospital. He died on the third day after the fall.
"This was the beginning of the end. A link was broken in the chain. It never mended. Mrs. Lannarck bore up bravely, but I could see that she had lost all earthly joys and simply awaited her summons. Mr. Lannarck's financial affairs were in good shape. He left quite an estate. The income was ample for our simple needs, but that was not enough. Mrs. Lannarck simply could not go on. She died in a little over a year following the death of her companion. For the second time in my life, I was an orphan.
"But this time I was to have a guardian. I had been legally adopted. I was the heir. I was rich. In the first fifteen years of my life, I had never seen money, never a penny of my own. Now it was the other way. After the funeral I went down to the bank to consult with Mister Gaynor. He handed me a sealed envelope. It was a message from the dear, kind, motherly Mrs. Lannarck. It was a letter of kindly advice, personal and spiritual. She said that she never doubted but that I would walk in the right path, but she made this final appeal. If I never married, never had heirs or dependents, and if there was any of the Lannarck estate left at my death, would I make a will, leaving a portion of it to the Grace Avenue Presbyterian Church, in trust for its upkeep, and a portion to the county orphanage, for the occasional entertainment of its inmates.
"Mrs. Gillis." Davy was the one now affected by the recitals. His voice was lower and slower. "Mrs. Gillis, after reading that message, I hadn't the tears out of my eyes nor my voice cleared up, until I was making that will. Gaynor did the work, he knew how, that was his business, and he made it read just as Mrs. Lannarck had requested. The Trust Department of the bank was made the trustee. One-half of all income from my estate was to be paid to the church, the other half for orphanage entertainment. It stands just that way yet, although the value of the estate has doubled.
"The Lannarck estate was what the bank folks called Income Property. It included two suburban store rooms with apartments above. There were three very good residences, five shares of bank stock, bonds and notes and a considerable bank deposit. I made a resolution then and there, that I would never touch a penny of it, and that resolution has been kept. The income has piled up until it now nearly equals the principal. Poor old Gaynor, the next-best friend I ever had, keeps the income collected and invested, and if this depression would only let up and give him a chance, he could build those Presbyterians a new church and give the orphans a picture show every night.
"Of course I've earned quite a lot of money, meanwhile, but Gaynor keeps that as a separate checking account; says circuses and vaudeville are not a dependable source of income and that I may go broke. This Ralph Gaynor is a wonder in his line, but it's not my kind of a line. He talks of interest, margins of safety, of unearned increments, corporate earnings, and things like that. His is not the big bank, with its long rows of figures. His is just a little 'Dollar-Down' concern, and he owns it all. Just now, in this depression, the Big Fellows are running to him asking, 'What to do?' And he's telling 'em to trim sails and stay close to shore.