Paul lay in bed late the following morning. He was not much worried; he was out of a job, but he had been out of a job often before. He argued himself into feeling no shame at his discharge; after all, that was the natural end to any term of employment. He twisted and rolled in bed, holding his eyes shut, trying to hang onto sleep, but it finally escaped him.
He rose, dressed slowly, pushed over his ninety-eight cent alarm clock and walked down the stairs of his rooming-house.
"Mail, Mr. Manley!" called his landlady.
Paul glanced at the inscription of the envelope—"Beaks & Sipperman, Attorneys-at-law, 32 Nassau Street, New York City." Under his landlady's curious gaze he dropped it into his pocket.
He opened it in the cafeteria while eating his twenty-cent Club Breakfast.
Nov. 16th, 1920.
Dear Sir:
If you are the nephew of Henry Clay Manley, formerly of this city, we beg to inform you that your uncle died in August last in Omaha. The will is to be probated in this state, and our Mr. Beaks is nominated as executor and trustee. As you are the only heir-at-law of the testator, and are also a beneficiary under said trust, we request that you call upon us at your first convenience to receive citation and to be advised of your interest. Your uncle left a considerable estate.
Ask for our Mr. Beaks.
Very truly yours.