"Show him in," said Mr. Beaks, glancing at the calendar which showed a date in May, 1922.
Paul and Molly entered. Paul looked nervous but determined; Molly wore that look of tranquil beatitude which the world cannot give to a girl, unless it has first given her an engagement ring with a genuine solitaire diamond in it. She was wearing the ring, and not trying to hide it.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Beaks," said Paul. "Miss Hazeltine—Mr. Beaks!"
Chairs were taken.
"I suppose you have come in regard to the trust under your uncle's will," said Beaks, reaching into the pigeonhole for the red-ribboned document. "May I ask you, Mr. Manley, what salary you are receiving?"
"Thirty-two dollars per week. I'm manager of one of Hepp's Bargain Basements, up in Harlem."
"Indeed! That is a great improvement over an earning capacity of seventeen dollars per week, and no employment. I congratulate you, Mr. Manley! You must have worked hard and steadily during the past eighteen months."
"I worked," nodded Paul curtly. He did not like Beaks.
"You are coming into a very nice thing," purred Beaks. "Thirty-two dollars per week for the term of your natural life! Many lawyers don't net that much, Mr. Manley. You should be able to live very nicely on it."
"Listen to me," said Paul gruffly. "That part about my not working any more; I've been talking that over with Miss Hazeltine here, and we've decided to make you a proposition! I'm a business man, and I'm talking business. I can make a whole lot more than thirty-two dollars per week later on, but on the other hand I don't see why I should have to lose all that money. I'll take half of it—sixteen dollars a week—and the Feeble-minded Home can have the other sixteen—providing you take out that part about my not working! Come, is that fair?"