BOOK 6
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY WILL OWEN
THE BEQUEST
R. Robert Clarkson sat by his fire, smoking thoughtfully. His lifelongneighbour and successful rival in love had passed away a few days before,and Mr. Clarkson, fresh from the obsequies, sat musing on the fragilityof man and the inconvenience that sometimes attended his departure.
His meditations were disturbed by a low knocking on the front door, whichopened on to the street. In response to his invitation it opened slowly,and a small middle-aged man of doleful aspect entered softly and closedit behind him.
"Evening, Bob," he said, in stricken accents. "I thought I'd just stepround to see how you was bearing up. Fancy pore old Phipps! Why, I'da'most as soon it had been me. A'most."
Mr. Clarkson nodded.
"Here to-day and gone to-morrow," continued Mr. Smithson, taking a seat."Well, well! So you'll have her at last-pore thing."
"That was his wish," said Mr. Clarkson, in a dull voice.
"And very generous of him too," said Mr. Smithson. "Everybody is sayingso. Certainly he couldn't take her away with him. How long is it sinceyou was both of you courting her?"
"Thirty years come June," replied the other.
"Shows what waiting does, and patience," commented Mr. Smithson. "Ifyou'd been like some chaps and gone abroad, where would you have beennow? Where would have been the reward of your faithful heart?"
Mr. Clarkson, whose pipe had gone out, took a coal from the fire and litit again.
"I can't understand him dying at his age," he said, darkly. "He ought tohave lived to ninety if he'd been taken care of."
"Well, he's gone, pore chap," said his friend. "What a blessing it mustha' been to him in his last moments to think that he had made provisionfor his wife."
"Provision!" exclaimed Mr. Clarkson. "Why he's left her nothing but thefurniture and fifty pounds insurance money—nothing in the world."
Mr. Smiths