The Argosy, April 1916 — page 93: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE HEIR TO THREE MILLIONS. He had been attending to his work and his daily affairs quietly for about two months since his subterranean adventure and his discharge from the hospital, when a man unknown to him, and of a type in strong contrast to that of his usual asso- ciates, visited him one afternoon at the butcher shop. The young meat cutter was scrubbing a block with a steel brush when the elderly man in the black cutaway of scrupulous style and neatness, carrying a walking stick and small satchel, stepped into the shop and glanced about with the air of a man “seeing how the other half lives,” and not being favorably impressed. He perceived Mr. Joyce occupying a po- sition of authority on the high stool back of the cashier’s desk in the glass-enclosed office and turned his attention to him. “T am looking for a man named Thomas W. Pender,” he said coldly, ‘“‘and this is the address that was given me. Is he employed here?” ‘“That’s him,’’ responded Joyce, thrusting out a large red thumb in the direction of the cleanser of the meat block. “Oh!” said the visitor, the monosylla- ble having an inflection open to a score of interesting interpretations. Tom straightened up and met the frigid scrutiny of the stranger with a casual nod. “Tom Pender’s my name, all right,” he said lightly. ‘‘Want to see me?”’ The visitor bowed, with something like painful reluctance. “I would like to see you for a few minutes—in private, if possi- ble,” he said. business.” The genial and friendly Joyce overheard the speech and flopped heavily from his stool. “Take the gentleman right in here, Tom,” he said, flinging wide the office door. “You can shut yourselves up in here and have all the privacy you want. There won’t no one butt in an’ disturb you.” “All right. Come in here an’ sit down,” said Tom bluntly, and as he closed the door of the narrow room he looked the stranger over critically. ‘No good!” he remarked dismally to himself. ‘Prob’ly a lawyer. Some o’ the Bull Pup bunch been a-gettin’ me in Dutch.” ‘You are Thomas Winthrop Pender,” be- gan the elderly man, with judicial gravity. “You were born in New York August twen- ty-first, eighteen-ninety-two; son of Win- “A little matter of personal . throp Adams Pender and Isabella Murray Pender. Is that correct?” Tom looked perplexed and more em- barrassed than was his wont. “Well, I ain’t got no alibi,” he said with a grin, “an’ I guess you got me right.” The man did not return the grin; his look became more icy and disapproving. “T will introduce myself,” he said grudg- ingly. “I am Anthony R. Bradford; I am from Boston and an attorney at law. I had other business in New York, so I am calling on you instead of writing.” ‘You don’t say!” exclaimed Tom, sensing the other’s disdain and meeting it with a sort of amused disregard. ‘Pleased ter meet yer, Mr. Bradford. And now, sir, if you’ve got something on yer mind about me, just get it right off—shoot!”’ The lawyer started involuntarily, as though the last word conveyed something of literal significance. “I beg your pardon,” he said reproach- fully, in a tone of challenge. ‘“Sure!”’ said Tom affably; “my fault. I mean, if they’ve got anything on me in Bos- ton—that is, if they think they have—let’s have it. But I have never been in Boston in me life—that’s straight!” The lawyer wagged his head and made a wry face, frankly giving expression to cer-: tain unpleasant reflections; then he braced himself for an ordeal, fidgeted with his watch chain and spoke. “Mr. Ellery Pender died about a week ago at the family home at Penderton,”’ he said. Tom instantly lost his air of flippancy. ‘You don’t say!” he exclaimed, in gen- uine consternation. ‘Yer mean my uncle, I s’pose. Say, he was a nice old feller, at that! Was he sick long, do you know? Do yer think that fall in the smash-up was the cause of it, now?” “Indirectly, I believe,” said the lawyer tersely. “He was not a strong man, and the shock of the accident doubtless con- tributed to his general break-down when he fell ill soon after his return to his home. “Mr. Ellery Pender,” he went on, hurry< ing his speech as he progressed, ‘‘was not your uncle, but your father’s. He never married, and the only heirs at law to his valuable estate were his nephew, Samuel Ellery Pender, the latter’s wife and you, Mr. Pender.” Tom betrayed a feeling of amazement and doubt. OOOLK 83 (©