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  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. Smithson fidgeted. "I mean you," he said, staring.

  "Oh!" said the other. "Oh, yes--yes, of course."

  "And he doesn't want you to eat your heart out in waiting," said Mr.Smithson. "'Never mind about me,' he said to her; 'you go and make Bobhappy.' Wonderful pretty girl she used to be, didn't she?" Mr. Clarksonassented.

  "And I've no doubt she looks the same to you as ever she did," pursuedthe sentimental Mr. Smithson. "That's the extraordinary part of it."

  Mr. Clarkson turned and eyed him; removed the pipe from his mouth, and,after hesitating a moment, replaced it with a jerk.

  "She says she'd rather be faithful to his memory," continued thepersevering Mr. Smithson, "but his wishes are her law. She said so to mymissis only yesterday."

  "Still, she ought to be considered," said Mr. Clarkson, shaking his head."I think that somebody ought to put it to her. She has got her feelings,poor thing, and, if she would rather not marry again, she oughtn't to becompelled to."

  "Just what my missis did say to her," said the other; "but she didn't paymuch attention. She said it was Henry's wish and she didn't care whathappened to her now he's gone. Besides, if you come to think of it, whatelse is she to do? Don't you worry, Bob; you won't lose her again."

  Mr. Clarkson, staring at the fire, mused darkly. For thirty years he hadplayed the congenial part of the disappointed admirer but faithfulfriend. He had intended to play it for at least fifty or sixty. Hewished that he had had the strength of mind to refuse the bequest whenthe late Mr. Phipps first mentioned it, or taken a firmer line over thecongratulations of his friends. As it was, Little Molton quiteunderstood that after thirty years' waiting the faithful heart was to berewarded at last. Public opinion seemed to be that the late Mr. Phippshad behaved with extraordinary generosity.

  "It's rather late in life for me to begin," said Mr. Clarkson at last.

  "Better late than never," said the cheerful Mr. Smithson.

  "And something seems to tell me that I ain't long for this world,"continued Mr. Clarkson, eyeing him with some disfavour.

  "Stuff and nonsense," said Mr. Smithson. "You'll lose all them ideas assoon as you're married. You'll have somebody to look after you and helpyou spend your money."

  Mr. Clarkson emitted a dismal groan, and clapping his hand over his mouthstrove to make it pass muster as a yawn. It was evident that themalicious Mr. Smithson was deriving considerable pleasure from hisdiscomfiture--the pleasure natural to the father of seven over thetroubles of a comfortable bachelor. Mr. Clarkson, anxious to share histroubles with somebody, came to a sudden and malicious determination toshare them with Mr. Smithson.

  "I don't want anybody to help me spend my money," he said, slowly."First and last I've saved a tidy bit. I've got this house, those threecottages in Turner's Lane, and pretty near six hundred pounds in thebank."

  Mr. Smithson's eyes glistened.

  "I had thought--it had occurred to me," said Mr. Clarkson, trying to keepas near the truth as possible, "to leave my property to a friend o' mine--a hard-working man with a large family. However, it's no use talkingabout that now. It's too late."

  "Who--who was it?" inquired his friend, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Mr. Clarkson shook his head. "It's no good talking about that now,George," he said, eyeing him with sly enjoyment. "I shall have to leaveeverything to my wife now. After all, perhaps it does more harm thangood to leave money to people."

  "Rubbish!" said Mr. Smithson, sharply. "Who was it?"

  "You, George," said Mr. Clarkson, softly.

  "Me?" said the other, with a gasp. "Me?" He jumped up from his chair,and, seizing the other's hand, shook it fervently.

  "I oughtn't to have told you, George," said Mr. Clarkson, with greatsatisfaction. "It'll only make you miserable. It's just one o' themight ha' beens."

  Mr. Smithson, with his back to the fire and his hands twisted behind him,stood with his eyes fixed in thought.

  "It's rather cool of Phipps," he said, after a long silence; "rathercool, I think, to go out of the world and just leave his wife to you tolook after. Some men wouldn't stand it. You're too easy-going, Bob,that's what's the matter with you."

  Mr. Clarkson sighed.

  "And get took advantage of," added his friend.

  "It's all very well to talk," said Mr. Clarkson, "but what can I do? Iought to have spoke up at the time. It's too late now."

  "If I was you," said his friend very earnestly, "and didn't want to marryher, I should tell her so. Say what you like it ain't fair to her youknow. It ain't fair to the pore woman. She'd never forgive you if shefound it out."

  "Everybody's taking it for granted," said the other.

  "Let everybody look after their own business," said Mr. Smithson, tartly."Now, look here, Bob; suppose I get you out of this business, how am I tobe sure you'll leave your property to me?--not that I want it. Supposeyou altered your will?"

  "If you get me out of it, every penny I leave will go to you," said Mr.Clarkson, fervently. "I haven't got any relations, and it don't matterin the slightest to me who has it after I'm gone."

  "As true as you stand there?" demanded the other, eyeing him fixedly.

  "As true as I stand here," said Mr. Clarkson, smiting his chest, andshook hands again.

  Long after his visitor had gone he sat gazing in a brooding fashion atthe fire. As a single man his wants were few, and he could live on hissavings; as the husband of Mrs. Phipps he would be compelled to resumethe work he thought he had dropped for good three years before.Moreover, Mrs. Phipps possessed a strength of character that had manytimes caused him to congratulate himself upon her choice of a husband.

  Slowly but surely his fetters were made secure. Two days later the widowdeparted to spend six weeks with a sister; but any joy that he might havefelt over the circumstance was marred by the fact that he had to carryher bags down to the railway station and see her off. The key of herhouse was left with him, with strict injunctions to go in and water hergeraniums every day, while two canaries and a bullfinch had to be removedto his own house in order that
they might have constant attention andcompany.

  "She's doing it on purpose," said Mr. Smithson, fiercely; "she's bindingyou hand and foot."

  Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily. "I'm trusting to you, George," heremarked.

  "How'd it be to forget to water the geraniums and let the birds diebecause they missed her so much?" suggested Mr. Smithson, afterprolonged thought.

  Mr. Clarkson shivered.

  "It would be a hint," said his friend.

  Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the mantelpiece and held them up."She writes about them every day," he said, briefly, "and I have toanswer them."

  "She--she don't refer to your getting married, I suppose?" said hisfriend, anxiously.

  Mr. Clarkson said "No. But her sister does," he added. "I've had twoletters from her."

  Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly up and down the room. "That'swomen all over," he said, bitterly. "They never ask for things straightout; but they always get 'em in roundabout ways. She can't do itherself, so she gets her sister to do it."

  Mr. Clarkson groaned. "And her sister is hinting that she can't leavethe house where she spent so many happy years," he said, "and says what apleasant surprise it would be for Mrs. Phipps if she was to come home andfind it done up."

  "That means you've got to live there when you're married," said hisfriend, solemnly.

  Mr. Clarkson glanced round his comfortable room and groaned again. "Sheasked me to get an estimate from Digson," he said, dully. "She knows aswell as I do her sister hasn't got any money. I wrote to say that it hadbetter be left till she comes home, as I might not know what was wanted."

  Mr. Smithson nodded approval.

  "And Mrs. Phipps wrote herself and thanked me for being so considerate,"continued his friend, grimly, "and says that when she comes back we mustgo over the house together and see what wants doing."

  Mr. Smithson got up and walked round the room again.

  "You never promised to marry her?" he said, stopping suddenly.

  "No," said the other. "It's all been arranged for me. I never said aword. I couldn't tell Phipps I wouldn't have her with them all standinground, and him thinking he was doing me the greatest favour in theworld."

  "Well, she can't name the day unless you ask her," said the other. "Allyou've got to do is to keep quiet and not commit yourself. Be as cool asyou can, and, just before she comes home, you go off to London onbusiness and stay there as long as possible."

  Mr. Clarkson carried out his instructions to the letter, and Mrs. Phipps,returning home at the end of her visit, learned that he had left forLondon three days before, leaving the geraniums and birds to the care ofMr. Smithson. From the hands of that unjust steward she received twoempty bird-cages, together with a detailed account of the manner in whichthe occupants had effected their escape, and a bullfinch that seemed tobe suffering from torpid liver. The condition of the geraniums wasascribed to worms in the pots, frost, and premature decay.

  "They go like it sometimes," said Mr. Smithson, "and when they do nothingwill save 'em."

  Mrs. Phipps thanked him. "It's very kind of you to take so muchtrouble," she said, quietly; "some people would have lost the cages toowhile they were about it."

  "I did my best," said Mr. Smithson, in a surly voice.

  "I know you did," said Mrs. Phipps, thoughtfully, "and I am sure I ammuch obliged to you. If there is anything of yours I can look after atany time I shall be only too pleased. When did you say Mr. Clarkson wascoming back?"

  "He don't know," said Mr. Smithson, promptly. "He might be away a month;and then, again, he might be away six. It all depends. You know whatbusiness is."

  "It's very thoughtful of him," said Mrs. Phipps. "Very."

  "Thoughtful!" repeated Mr. Smithson.

  "He has gone away for a time out of consideration for me," said thewidow. "As things are, it is a little bit awkward for us to meet much atpresent."

  "I don't think he's gone away for that at all," said the other, bluntly.

  Mrs. Phipps shook her head. "Ah, you don't know him as well as I do,"she said, fondly. "He has gone away on my account, I feel sure."

  Mr. Smithson screwed his lips together and remained silent.

  "When he feels that it is right and proper for him to come back," pursuedMrs. Phipps, turning her eyes upwards, "he will come. He has left hiscomfortable home just for my sake, and I shall not forget it."

  Mr. Smithson coughed-a short, dry cough, meant to convey incredulity.

  "I shall not do anything to this house till he comes back," said Mrs.Phipps. "I expect he would like to have a voice in it. He always usedto admire it and say how comfortable it was. Well, well, we never knowwhat is before us."

  Mr. Smithson repeated the substance of the interview to Mr. Clarkson byletter, and in the lengthy correspondence that followed kept him postedas to the movements of Mrs. Phipps. By dint of warnings and entreatieshe kept the bridegroom-elect in London for three months. By that timeLittle Molton was beginning to talk.

  "They're beginning to see how the land lays," said Mr. Smithson, on theevening of his friend's return, "and if you keep quiet and do as I tellyou she'll begin to see it too. As I said before, she can't name the daytill you ask her."

  Mr. Clarkson agreed, and the following morning, when he called upon Mrs.Phipps at her request, his manner was so distant that she attributed itto ill-health following business worries and the atmosphere of London.In the front parlour Mr. Digson, a small builder and contractor, was busywhitewashing.

  "I thought we might as well get on with that," said Mrs. Phipps; "thereis only one way of doing whitewashing, and the room has got to be done.To-morrow Mr. Digson will bring up some papers, and, if you'll comeround, you can help me choose."

  Mr. Clarkson hesitated. "Why not choose 'em yourself?" he said at last.

  "Just what I told her," said Mr. Digson, stroking his black beard."What'll please you will be sure to please him, I says; and if it don'tit ought to."

  Mr. Clarkson started. "Perhaps you could help her choose," he said,sharply.

  Mr. Digson came down from his perch. "Just what I said," he replied."If Mrs. Phipps will let me advise her, I'll make this house so she won'tknow it before I've done with it."

  "Mr. Digson has been very kind," said Mrs. Phipps, reproachfully.

  "Not at all, ma'am," said the builder, softly. "Anything I can do tomake you happy or comfortable will be a pleasure to me."

  Mr. Clarkson started again, and an odd idea sent his blood dancing.Digson was a widower; Mrs. Phipps was a widow. Could anything be moresuitable or desirable?

  "Better let him choose," he said. "After all, he ought to be a goodjudge."

  Mrs. Phipps, after a faint protest, gave way, and Mr. Digson, smilingbroadly, mounted his perch again.

  Mr. Clarkson's first idea was to consult Mr. Smithson; then he resolvedto wait upon events. The idea was fantastic to begin with, but, ifthings did take such a satisfactory turn, he could not help reflectingthat it would not be due to any efforts on the part of Mr. Smithson, andhe would no longer be under any testamentary obligations to thatenterprising gentleman.

  By the end of a week he was jubilant. A child could have told Mr.Digson's intentions--and Mrs. Phipps was anything but a child. Mr.Clarkson admitted cheerfully that Mr. Digson was a younger andbetter-looking man than himself--a more suitable match in every way.And, so far as he could judge, Mrs. Phipps seemed to think so. At anyrate, she had ceased to make the faintest allusion to any tie betweenthem. He left her one day painting a door, while the attentive Digsonguided the brush, and walked homewards smiling.

  "Morning!" said a voice behind him.

  "Morning, Bignell," said Mr. Clarkson.

  "When--when is it to be?" inquired his friend, walking beside him.

  Mr. Clarkson frowned. "When is what to be?" he demanded, disagreeably.

  Mr. Bignell lowered his voice. "You'll lose her if you ain't careful,"he said. "Mark my wo
rds. Can't you see Digson's little game?"

  Mr. Clarkson shrugged his shoulders.

  "He's after her money," said the other, with a cautious glance around.

  "Money?" said the other, with an astonished laugh. "Why, she hasn't gotany."

  "She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months"]

  "Oh, all right," said Mr. Bignell. "You know best of course. I was justgiving you the tip, but if you know better--why, there's nothing more tobe said. She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months,anyhow; the richest woman in Little Molton."

  Mr. Clarkson stopped short and eyed him in perplexity.

  "Digson got a bit sprung one night and told me," said Mr. Bignell. "Shedon't know it herself yet--uncle on her mother's side in America. Shemight know at any moment."

  "But--but how did Digson know?" inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson.

  "He wouldn't tell me," was the reply. "But it's good enough for him.What do you think he's after? Her? And mind, don't let on to a soulthat I told you."

  He walked on, leaving Mr. Clarkson standing in a dazed condition in thecentre of the foot-path. Recovering himself by an effort, he walkedslowly away, and, after prowling about for some time in an aimlessfashion, made his way back to Mrs. Phipps's house.

  He emerged an hour later an engaged man, with the date of the weddingfixed. With jaunty steps he walked round and put up the banns, and then,with the air of a man who has completed a successful stroke of business,walked homewards.

  Little Molton is a small town and news travels fast, but it did nottravel faster than Mr. Smithson as soon as he had heard it. He burstinto Mr. Clarkson's room like the proverbial hurricane, and, gasping forbreath, leaned against the table and pointed at him an incriminatingfinger.

  "You you've been running," said Mr. Clarkson, uneasily.

  "What--what--what do you--mean by it?" gasped Mr. Smithson. "After allmy trouble. After our--bargain."

  "I altered my mind," said Mr. Clarkson, with dignity.

  "Pah!" said the other.

  "Just in time," said Mr. Clarkson, speaking rapidly. "Another day and Ibelieve I should ha' been too late. It took me pretty near an hour totalk her over. Said I'd been neglecting her, and all that sort of thing;said that she was beginning to think I didn't want her. As hard a job asever I had in my life."

  "But you didn't want her," said the amazed Mr. Smithson. "You told meso."

  "You misunderstood me," said Mr. Clarkson, coughing. "You jump atconclusions."

  Mr. Smithson sat staring at him. "I heard," he said at last, with aneffort... "I heard that Digson was paying her attentions."

  Mr. Clarkson spoke without thought. "Ha, he was only after her money,"he said, severely. "Good heavens! What's the matter?"

  Mr. Smithson, who had sprung to his feet, made no reply, but stood forsome time incapable of speech.

  "What--is--the--matter?" repeated Mr. Clarkson. "Ain't you well?"

  Mr. Smithson swayed a little, and sank slowly back into his chair again.

  "Room's too hot," said his astonished host.

  Mr. Smithson, staring straight before him, nodded.

  "As I was saying," resumed Mr. Clarkson, in the low tones of confidence,"Digson was after her money. Of course her money don't make anydifference to me, although, perhaps, I may be able to do something forfriends like you. It's from an uncle in America on her mother's--"

  Mr. Smithson made a strange moaning noise, and, snatching his hat fromthe table, clapped it on his head and made for the door. Mr. Clarksonflung his arms around him and dragged him back by main force.

  "What are you carrying on like that for?" he demanded. "What do you meanby it?"

  "Fancy!" returned Mr. Smithson, with intense bitterness. "I thoughtDigson was the biggest fool in the place, and I find I've made amistake. So have you. Good-night."

  He opened the door and dashed out. Mr. Clarkson, with a strange sinkingat his heart, watched him up the road.