George Benson ran up the stairs to his uncle’s room, but he did not know that the family lawyer was there.
“Good afternoon,” said he, holding out his hand, the truth never once coming across his mind.
“How are you, uncle?” said he, walking up to the bed.
“Oh, so, so, boy,” replied the sick man. “I have done something which I hope you will think is just. I have made a new will leaving Annie my fortune.”
“What?”
The cry in the one word was enough to startle each man. The aged invalid raised on his elbow, and looked into the contorted face. The lawyer was thankful that he had stayed, for he believed and told the doctor afterward that he thought George Benson would have killed his uncle if he had not been there.
Without noticing the attorney, he broke out:
“How dare you tell me that? Do you think that I am going to allow you to do anything like that? What did I get rid of that young rascal, Tom Cooper, for, and many others who have stood in my way? You need not think that I am going to let you cut me off without a penny.”
“You’ll let me do what I wish with my money, my own money,” muttered the sick man. “What business is it of yours what I do? You would have had none of it if I had had my child with me.”