"Can I leave anything to anyone I like?"
"Yes, to anyone you like or don't like." I was thinking of Bobs. He is not a very amiable dog and no friend of mine.
"I think I'll leave Bobs to you." I had felt it coming.
"But I might die before Bobs. Bobs being a specific legacy would then lapse and fall into residue," I hurriedly explained.
"That doesn't sound nice."
"It isn't nice. Bobs would never be happy there. You had better leave him to some one younger."
After we had settled Bobs on a young cousin we got on quite quickly. We left her old dance programmes and several unimportant things of doubtful ownership to her greatest rival; her piano (with three notes missing), on which she had learnt to play as a child, to her Aunt in Australia, said Aunt to pay carriage and legacy duty; her violin to the people in the next flat; her French novels to the church library; her golf clubs and tennis racket to her old nurse; her Indian clubs to the Olympic Games Committee; her early water-colour sketches to the Nation. We divided up all her goods. Everybody got something appropriate. It was a good will. And when I suggested that there should be no immediate charge, but that the cost should be paid out of the estate in due season, Miranda very cheerfully agreed; and even went so far as to express a generous hope that I should outlive her.
THE MAN OF THE MOMENT.
January 23, 1914.