“He’s a picturesque client, but not profitable, I imagine.”
“No; he’s not profitable. But I’ve always done whatever he had to do. He’s a poor lot, Ezra Dameron. I suppose Mr. Merriam never speaks of him to you?”
“Never a word.”
“That’s quite characteristic. He hates him like poison, but he has never intimated as much to me. The Merriams have been at outs with one another for years. I believe the trouble began when Ezra Dameron married Margaret Merriam. They were opposed to it.”
“He looks and acts the part of the traditional stage miser. His hammer and nails are part of his make-up.”
“He’s not attractive, to say the least. The only good thing I know about him is that his daughter stands by him. We all supposed that of course she would quit him after a few months; but she seems to be a Merriam. They are the real thing. Her mother stood by Ezra to the very last. She never let the family know if she suffered. She was a beautiful woman. She carried herself with a royal air. You don’t remember her?”
“No, I never saw her. I’ve seen a portrait of her at Mr. Merriam’s. Her daughter must be very like her.”
“Yes; they are very like. But there’s a difference; I haven’t made out what it is. I think Mrs. Dameron hadn’t quite the same spirit; there was a heart-breaking resignation in her. It got into her face as she grew older; but the girl hasn’t it.”
The talk drifted into a channel that Carr had not premeditated, but its direction suited his mood and the hour and place. He had thrown one short leg over the other and rested at ease in spite of the fact that it was now past his dinner hour.
“Mrs. Dameron’s will caused a good deal of wonder and gossip when she died. She had deliberately chosen to carry her faith in her husband beyond the grave. You’ve seen the will?”