“I’ll see ’em d—-d first!”
“All very well. But if they put you on the stand, you’ll have to tell or go to jail. And they’ll put you on, for you’re their one best bet. With you they can win and without you they can’t.”
“Then they lose. I’ll skip the country rather than rake up all that dead and decayed stuff.”
“How about your grandfather’s will, under which you inherit this house and most of your fortune? Have you forgotten that you’re required to inhabit the house, from now on, at least three months out of every six until you’re married?”
“So I have. Happy alternative! Lose the house or parade the family skeletons all diked out in pink sashes and tin-can labels. When does the blasted suit come on?”
“I don’t know. When I do I’ll let you know. Then it’s up to you either to stand a siege in the house or to light out and go into hiding, and take a chance on getting back within the three months.”
“Well, Connor,” said Jacob Remsen after the lawyer had left, “here’s a complication for a peace-and-quiet-loving young man! How did such a respectable person as you ever come to take service in such a herd of black sheep?”
“I don’t know anything about those goings-on, sir,” asseverated the old man doggedly. “If they put me in jail the rest of my life I couldn’t remember ever hearing a word about any of ’em, sir.”
“Good man! Don’t you testify to anything that would tend to incriminate or degrade the memory of Uncle Simeon or any other Remsen. And neither will I. However, this isn’t dressing for dinner.”
Having changed, young Mr. Remsen returned to dine with Gloria Greene. He found her smiling over a note which she carefully blotted before turning from her desk to greet him.