When she had finished, his eyes were heavy with grief beyond the power of tears.
“And my boy told you to—take—this—money, Ruth?” he slowly and sorrowfully asked.
“Yes, father.”
“Do you know an honest lawyer, dear?”
“Yes; an old friend of mine, Morris King.”
“Call him over your telephone immediately, and take me to your desk. My fortune is not large, as the world reckons wealth—perhaps fifty thousand dollars carefully saved during the past thirty years of frugal living. It shall be yours, my dear.”
“But, father, you must not take it from yourself in your age!”
“Are you not my beloved daughter? And do not your babies call me grandfather? It’s such a poor little thing I can do. I’ve enough in bank to last me to the journey’s end, and I’ll stay near to watch over you. I can have no other home now.”
The lawyer came within an hour, and the will was duly witnessed.
He handed it to Ruth and she kissed and thanked him.