It ran as follows:
“I, John Mooney, being at the end of life, do hereby make this my last will and testament.
“Inasmuch as the United States Government, with a tender regard beyond that of friend or relative, has, now for a long time, been extremely solicitous to provide me with food, clothing and the necessities of life:
“Now, therefore, in appreciative remembrance, I do, by these Presents, give and bequeath to the said United States Government fifty-one thousand dollars in bank notes, which I have caused on this day to be delivered to the Federal District Attorney of this city;
“In the hope that the said United States Government, having thus esteemed me in life, may now, in death, cherish my memory.
(Signed) “John Mooney.”
They realized now that the man was in the very extremity of death. He was dying as he had lived, with a cynical disregard of everybody. His very last words were in character:
“Tell ’em—no flowers.”
His voice was a gasping stutter.
In the meantime Maggie had gone to the railroad station, found the traveling bag which had been reshipped, and had taken a taxicab to the office of the District Attorney; precisely as Mooney had directed in his will.