CHAPTER XI
SANTA CLAUS ARRIVES
It was not long after this that Mr. Smith found a tall, gray-hairedman, with keen gray eyes, talking with Mrs. Jane Blaisdell andMellicent in the front room over the grocery store.
"Well--" began Mr. Smith, a joyful light of recognition in his eyes.Then suddenly he stooped and picked up something from the floor. Whenhe came upright his face was very red. He did not look at the tall,gray-haired man again as he advanced into the room.
Mellicent turned to him eagerly.
"Oh, Mr. Smith, it's the lawyer--he's come. And it's true. It IS true!"
"This is Mr. Smith, Mr. Norton," murmured Mrs. Jane Blaisdell to thekeen-eyed man, who, also, for no apparent reason, had grown very red."Mr. Smith's a Blaisdell, too,--distant, you know. He's doing aBlaisdell book."
"Indeed! How interesting! How are you, Mr.--Smith?" The lawyer smiledand held out his hand, but there was an odd constraint in his manner."So you're a Blaisdell, too, are you?"
"Er--yes," said Mr. Smith, smiling straight into the lawyer's eyes.
"But not near enough to come in on the money, of course," explainedMrs. Jane. "He isn't a Hiller-Blaisdell. He's just boarding here, whilehe writes his book.
"Oh I see. So he isn't near enough to come in--on the money." This timeit was the lawyer who was smiling straight into Mr. Smith's eyes.
But he did not smile for long. A sudden question from Mellicent seemedto freeze the smile on his lips.
"Mr. Norton, please, what was Mr. Stanley G. Fulton like?" she begged.
"Why--er--you must have seen his pictures in the papers," stammered thelawyer.
"Yes, what was he like? Do tell us," urged Mr. Smith with a blandsmile, as he seated himself.
"Why--er--" The lawyer came to a still more unhappy pause.
"Of course, we've seen his pictures," broke in Mellicent, "but thosedon't tell us anything. And YOU KNEW HIM. So won't you tell us what hewas like, please, while we're waiting for father to come up? Was henice and jolly, or was he stiff and haughty? What was he like?"
"Yes, what was he like?" coaxed Mr. Smith again. Mr. Smith, for somereason, seemed to be highly amused.
The lawyer lifted his head suddenly. An odd flash came to his eyes.
"Like? Oh, just an ordinary man, you know,--somewhat conceited, ofcourse." (A queer little half-gasp came from Mr. Smith, but the lawyerwas not looking at Mr. Smith.) "Eccentric--you've heard that, probably.And he HAS done crazy things, and no mistake. Of course, with his moneyand position, we won't exactly say he had bats in his belfry--isn'tthat what they call it?--but--"
Mr. Smith gave a real gasp this time, and Mrs. Jane Blaisdellejaculated:--
"There, I told you so! I knew something was wrong. And now he'll comeback and claim the money. You see if he don't! And if we've gone andspent any of it--" A gesture of despair finished her sentence.
"Give yourself no uneasiness on that score, madam," the lawyer assuredher gravely. "I think I can safely guarantee he will not do that."
"Then you think he's--dead?"
"I did not say that, madam. I said I was very sure he would not comeback and claim this money that is to be paid over to your husband andhis brother and sister. Dead or alive, he has no further power overthat money now."
"Oh-h!" breathed Mellicent. "Then it IS--ours!"
"It is yours," bowed the lawyer.
"But Mr. Smith says we've probably got to pay a tax on it," thrust inMrs. Jane, in a worried voice. "Do you know how much we'll HAVE to pay?And isn't there any way we can save doing that?"
Before Mr. Norton could answer, a heavy step down the hall heralded Mr.Frank Blaisdell's advance, and in the ensuing confusion of his arrival,Mr. Smith slipped away. As he passed the lawyer, however, Mellicentthought she heard him mutter, "You rascal!" But afterwards sheconcluded she must have been mistaken, for the two men appeared tobecome at once the best of friends. Mr. Norton remained in town severaldays, and frequently she saw him and Mr. Smith chatting pleasantlytogether, or starting off apparently for a walk. Mellicent was verysure, therefore, that she must have been mistaken in thinking she hadheard Mr. Smith utter so remarkable an exclamation as he left the roomthat first day.
During the stay of Mr. Norton in Hillerton, and for some daysafterward, the Blaisdells were too absorbed in the mere details ofacquiring and temporarily investing their wealth to pay attention toanything else. Under the guidance of Mr. Norton, Mr. Robert Chalmers,and the heads of two other Hillerton banks, the three legatees setthemselves to the task of "finding a place to put it," as Miss Florabreathlessly termed it.
Mrs. Hattie said that, for her part, she should like to leave theirshare all in the bank: then she'd have it to spend whenever she wantedit. She yielded to the shocked protestations of the others, however,and finally consented that her husband should invest a large part of itin the bonds he so wanted, leaving a generous sum in the bank in herown name. She was assured that the bonds were just as good as money,anyway, as they were the kind that were readily convertible into cash.
Mrs. Jane, when she understood the matter, was for investing every centof theirs where it would draw the largest interest possible. Mrs. Janehad never before known very much about interest, and she was fascinatedwith its delightful possibilities. She spent whole days joyfullyfiguring percentages, and was awakened from her happy absorption onlyby the unpleasant realization that her husband was not in sympathy withher ideas at all. He said that the money was his, not hers, and that,for once in his life, he was going to have his way. "His way" in thiscase proved to be the prompt buying-out of the competing grocery on theother corner, and the establishing of good-sized bank account. The restof the money he said Jane might invest for a hundred per cent, if shewanted to.
Jane was pleased to this extent, and asked if it were possible that shecould get such a splendid rate as one hundred per cent. She had notfigured on that! She was not so pleased later, when Mr. Norton and thebankers told her what she COULD get--with safety; and she was veryangry because they finally appealed to her husband and she was obligedto content herself with a paltry five or six per cent, when there weresuch lovely mining stocks and oil wells everywhere that would pay somuch more.
She told Flora that she ought to thank her stars that SHE had the moneyherself in her own name, to do just as she pleased with, without anyold-fogy men bossing her.
But Flora only shivered and said "Mercy me!" and that, for her part,she wished she didn't have to say what to do with it. She was scaredof her life of it, anyway, and she was just sure she should lose it,whatever she did with it; and she 'most wished she didn't have it, onlyit would be nice, of course, to buy things with it--and she supposedshe would buy things with it, after a while, when she got used to it,and was not afraid to spend it.
Miss Flora was, indeed, quite breathless most of the time, these days.She tried very hard to give the kind gentlemen who were helping her notrouble, and she showed herself eager always to take their advice. Butshe wished they would not ask her opinion; she was always afraid togive it, and she didn't have one, anyway; only she did worry, ofcourse, and she had to ask them sometimes if they were real sure theplaces they had put her money were perfectly safe, and just couldn'tblow up. It was so comforting always to see them smile, and hear themsay: "Perfectly, my dear Miss Flora, perfectly! Give yourself nouneasiness." To be sure, one day, the big fat man, not Mr. Chalmers,did snap out: "No, madam; only the Lord Almighty can guarantee agovernment bond--the whole country may be blown to atoms by a volcanoto-morrow morning!"
She was startled, terribly startled; but she saw at once, of course,that it must be just his way of joking, for of course there wasn't anyvolcano big enough to blow up the whole United States; and, anyway, shedid not think it was nice of him, and it was almost like swearing, tosay "the Lord Almighty" in that tone of voice. She never liked that fatman again. After that she always talked to Mr. Chalmers, or to theother man with a wart on his nose.
Miss Flora had never had a chec
k-book before, but she tried very hardto learn how to use it, and to show herself not too stupid. She wasglad there were such a lot of checks in the book, but she didn'tbelieve she'd ever spend them all--such a lot of money! She had had asavings-bank book, to be sure, but she not been able to put anything inthe bank for a long time, and she had been worrying a good deal latelyfor fear she would have to draw some out, business had been so dull.But she would not have to do that now, of course, with all this moneythat had come to her.
They told her that she could have all the money she wanted by justfilling out one of the little slips in her check-book the way they hadtold her to do it and taking it to Mr. Chalmers's bank--that there werea good many thousand dollars there waiting for her to spend, just asshe liked; and that, when they were gone, Mr. Chalmers would tell herhow to sell some of her bonds and get more. It seemed very wonderful!
There were other things, too, that they had told her--too many for herto remember--something about interest, and things called coupons thatmust be cut off the bonds at certain times. She tried to remember itall; but Mr. Chalmers had been very kind and had told her not to fret.He would help her when the time came. Meanwhile, he had rented her anice tin box (that pulled out like a drawer) in the safety-depositvault under the bank, where she could keep her bonds and all the otherpapers--such a lot of them!--that Mr. Chalmers told her she must keepvery carefully.
But it was all so new and complicated, and everybody was always talkingat once, so!
No wonder, indeed, that Miss Flora was quite breathless with it all.
By the time the Blaisdells found themselves able to pay attention toHillerton, or to anything outside their own astounding personalaffairs, they became suddenly aware of the attention Hillerton waspaying to THEM.
The whole town was agog. The grocery store, the residence of FrankBlaisdell, and Miss Flora's humble cottage might be found at nearly anydaylight hour with from one to a dozen curious-eyed gazers on thesidewalk before them. The town paper had contained an elaborate accountof the bequest and the remarkable circumstances attending it; andHillerton became the Mecca of wandering automobiles for miles around.Big metropolitan dailies got wind of the affair, recognized the magicname of Stanley G. Fulton, and sent reporters post-haste to Hillerton.
Speculation as to whether the multi-millionaire was really dead wasprevalent everywhere, and a search for some clue to his reported SouthAmerican exploring expedition was undertaken in several quarters.Various rumors concerning the expedition appeared immediately, but noneof them seemed to have any really solid foundation. Interviews with thegreat law firm having the handling of Mr. Fulton's affairs wereprinted, but even here little could be learned save the mere fact ofthe letter of instructions, upon which they had acted according todirections, and the other fact that there still remained one morepacket--understood to be the last will and testament--to be opened intwo years' time if Mr. Fulton remained unheard from. The lawyers werebland and courteous, but they really had nothing to say, they declared,beyond the already published facts.
In Hillerton the Blaisdells accepted this notoriety with characteristicvariation. Miss Flora, after cordially welcoming one "nice young man,"and telling him all about how strange and wonderful it was, and howfrightened she felt, was so shocked and distressed to find all that shesaid (and a great deal that she did not say!) staring at her from thefirst page of a big newspaper, that she forthwith barred her doors, andrefused to open them till she satisfied herself, by surreptitious peepsthrough the blinds, that it was only a neighbor who was knocking foradmittance. An offer of marriage from a Western ranchman and anotherfrom a Vermont farmer (both entire strangers) did not tend to lessenher perturbation of mind.
Frank, at the grocery store, rather welcomed questioners--so long asthere was a hope of turning them into customers; but his wife andMellicent showed almost as much terror of them as did Miss Floraherself.
James Blaisdell and Fred stoically endured such as refused to besilenced by their brusque non-committalism. Benny, at first welcomingeverything with the enthusiasm he would accord to a circus, soonsniffed his disdain, as at a show that had gone stale.
Of them all, perhaps Mrs. Hattie was the only one that found in it anyreal joy and comfort. Even Bessie, excited and interested as she was,failed to respond with quite the enthusiasm that her mother showed.Mrs. Hattie saw every reporter, talked freely of "dear Cousin Stanley"and his wonderful generosity, and explained that she would go intomourning, of course, if she knew he was really dead. She sat for twonew portraits for newspaper use, besides graciously posing for staffphotographers whenever requested to do so; and she treasured carefullyevery scrap of the printed interviews or references to the affair thatshe could find. She talked with the townspeople, also, and told AlSmith how fine it was that he could have something really worth whilefor his book.
Mr. Smith, these days, was keeping rather closely to his work,especially when reporters were in evidence. He had been heard toremark, indeed, that he had no use for reporters. Certainly he foughtshy of those investigating the Fulton-Blaisdell legacy. He read thenewspaper accounts, though, most attentively, particularly the onesfrom Chicago that Mr. Norton kindly sent him sometimes. It was in oneof these papers that he found this paragraph:--
There seems to be really nothing more that can be learned about theextraordinary Stanley G. Fulton-Blaisdell affair. The bequests havebeen paid, the Blaisdells are reveling in their new wealth, and Mr.Fulton is still unheard from. There is nothing now to do but to awaitthe opening of the second mysterious packet two years hence. This, itis understood, is the final disposition of his estate; and if he isreally dead, such will doubtless prove to be the case. There are those,however, who, remembering the multi-millionaire's well-knowneccentricities, are suspecting him of living in quiet retirementsomewhere, laughing in his sleeve at the tempest in the teapot that hehas created; and that long before the two years are up, he will be backon Chicago's streets, debonair and smiling as ever. The fact that solittle can be found in regard to the South American exploringexpedition might give color to this suspicion; but where on thisterrestrial ball could Mr. Stanley G. Fulton find a place to live inUNREPORTED retirement?
Mr. Smith did not show this paragraph to the Blaisdells. He destroyedthe paper containing it, indeed, promptly and effectually--with afurtive glance over his shoulder as he did so. It was at about thistime, too, that Mr. Smith began to complain of his eyes and to wearsmoked glasses. He said he found the new snow glaring.
"But you look so funny, Mr. Smith," said Benny, the first time he sawhim. "Why, I didn't hardly know you!"
"Didn't you, Benny?" asked Mr. Smith, with suddenly a beamingcountenance. "Oh, well, that doesn't matter, does it?" And Mr. Smithgave an odd little chuckle as he turned away.