By this time, Miss Jemima had managed to recover her breath, and, in part, her wits.
“But I can’t get you ready by to-morrow, Thomas!”
“My dear Jemima, that doesn’t matter at all: whether you can get me ready or not, I must go. The lawyers will have taken my passage by this time.”
“But—but you can never take care of yourself in America, Thomas. It’s such a large country, and so dreadful; and the Americans are such strange people.”
“Never mind, Jemima,” was the pleasant reply, “Messrs. Tongs and Ball have sent a cablegram to their agent in New York, instructing him to look after me. And, besides, I’ve made my will.”
“What?” shouted Miss Jemima, “made your will?”
To Miss Jemima it seemed a dreadful thing to make one’s will. It was a last desperate resort. It was in view of death that people made their wills. It was evident her brother did not expect to get safely back.
“Yes,” repeated “Cobbler” Horn, with a quiet smile, “I’ve made my will. But, don’t be alarmed, Jemima; I sha’n’t die any the sooner for that. I did it as a wise precaution, with the approval of the lawyers. Even if I had not been going to America, I should have had to make my will sooner or later. Cheer up, Jemima! Our Heavenly Father bears rule in America, and on the sea, as well as here at home.”
Miss Jemima had relapsed into silence. She was beginning to realize the fact that her brother had made his will, which, after all, was not so very strange a thing. But what was the nature of the will? She did not desire to inherit her brother’s property herself. She was rich enough already. But she was apprehensive that he might have made some foolish disposition of his money of which she would not be able to approve. To whom, or to what she would have desired him to leave his wealth, she could not, perhaps, have told; but she would not be easy till she knew the contents of his will. And yet she could not question her brother on the subject in the presence of his secretary. The girl might be very well, but must not be allowed to know too much.
“If I don’t come back, Jemima,” said “Cobbler” Horn, as though he had read his sister’s thoughts, “you will know what my will contains soon enough. If I do—of which I have little doubt—I will tell you all about it myself.”