Bob shook his head. “I received a letter from the lawyers,” he said. “Whatever’s left is to be shared by myself and Betty Mandell, my uncle’s ward. She’s lived with my uncle since she was a child.”
Mallory smiled a wry smile. “That means,” he said, “that she will be virtually penniless. She will have no home, and what money she receives cannot last long.”
“She needn’t worry,” smiled Bob. “I’ve done well in South Africa, Mr. Mallory. She’ll live here, as she’s always done. And that reminds me, sir, I have to call her. Pardon me for a few minutes.”
Bob consulted a card he drew from his pocket and reached for the desk phone. In a few moments, Mallory smiled again, observing the beam of happiness on Bob’s face as he spoke.
“Yes, Betty,” Bob was saying, “this is Bob… I’m glad to hear your voice, too… A good many years since we’ve seen each other… You are coming in to-morrow? That’s great… No, Betty, you mustn’t talk that way. This is your home, as it has always been… I’ll see you to-morrow, then? Wonderful!”
After the phone call, Bob chatted with his uncle’s old friend. He was glad to meet some one in New York.
Bob had left, when only a youth, to seek his fortune in South Africa, where his father, Theodore Galvin’s brother, had left him some property.
He told Mallory of his adventures there. He brought out papers from his suitcase, and showed them to his uncle’s old friend. The papers were piled upon the desk by the time their conversation had ended.
Hiram Mallory arose. He held out his hand.
“You have done well, Robert,” he said. “I only regret that your uncle did not live to see you and talk with you as I have. He would have been delighted to learn of your success.