“Royal Fillmore Pell,” Sydney repeated the name mechanically, still too amazed at the inference he must draw from the question to be really conscious of what he was saying.
“Thank you. A fine name it is, and fitted to a splendid boy. Then write—but no. I had determined not to leave it to him. What is his mother’s name? She must have it all outright. Then it can be used at once in the way to please Roy best. Now Mrs. Pell’s full name?”
“Jessica Fillmore Pell. I suppose, as a lawyer, I ought not to express any surprise at what you are doing, but you can see how close home it comes to me, Mr. Tyler. You know the relation in which I stand to this family, with whom I am connected by no ties of blood, but who have been so good to me.”
“And you have deserved it, young man. I am not leaving money to a family of whom I know nothing. Have you got that: all my fortune unreservedly to Jessica Fillmore Pell?”
“Yes, Mr. Tyler.”
“Roy knows something of this, and if people think it strange or hint that I am out of my head to leave my money in this way, you can tell them what he did for me this afternoon. That ought to satisfy them. Now I want to tell you where my money is invested so that you can get at it easily, for I want you, Sydney, to be one of my executors, and I will take Dr. Martin for the other. Here he comes now. We will continue this business presently.”
Roy came in with the doctor; a cheery man, whom everybody in the neighborhood liked.
“Doctor,” began Mr. Tyler, before the physician could say anything, “I want you to witness my will. Roy, run out to the kitchen and get Ann to come in here.”
“Ann,” said Roy, appearing in the rear regions, “Mr. Tyler wants you to come out and witness his will.”
“Is the poor man dying then?” exclaimed the woman, looking frightened.