“That worries me a little, too,” Junior said. “Brewster, are you sure you’re not up to some kind of trick?”
“Young man,” said Brewster, “I do not engage in trickery. I am an attorney of the highest repute. The highest repute. I have already assured you that you have the right to read the document yourself if you are not satisfied. I shall, indeed, be happy to read it aloud. Aloud.”
“I’m against that,” said Uncle Homer. “Damn it, Junior, you don’t realize what kind of torture you’re inviting.”
“Oh, go ahead and extract the meat,” Hester said.
“Yes, Brewster,” Uncle Homer said, “extract it, please.”
“And try,” said Lester, “not to repeat yourself seventeen times in extracting it.”
Given license to extract, Brewster abandoned the document on the desk and consulted a sheet of paper that he took from a pocket of his coat.
“To settle the major matter at once,” he said, “Artemus Hunter has left his entire estate, divided into five parts, to his son Homer in the amount of thirty percent, his daughter Flo in the amount of twenty-five percent, and his grand-children, Junior, Lester and Hester, in the amount of fifteen percent each.”
“Dear old Father,” Uncle Homer said.
“Rest his soul,” said Flo.
“There must be a joker,” said Junior.
“The same notion has struck me,” said Lester.
“What I would like to know,” said Hester, “is how much the estate is.”
“According to my best estimate,” Brewster said, “it amounts, in round figures, to ten million dollars.”
“An appreciable amount,” Uncle Homer said.
“In my opinion,” said Flo, “there is nothing lovelier than round figures.”
“Especially,” said Lester, “when they have been extracted.”
“Wait a minute,” Hester said. “What happened to the Crumps?”
“That’s right,” Uncle Homer said. “Brewster, you said specifically that old Crump and his wife were remembered. What kind of hellish deception are you up to?”
“So they were,” Brewster said. “That brings us to a certain condition. A proviso, so to speak.”
“What the devil do you mean, proviso? Brewster, I become damn uneasy when you start talking like a shyster. Permit me to remind you that you have already said that the family will inherit the entire estate.”
“So you will. In good time.”
“In good time? What do you mean by good time? By God, Brewster, you are driving me to distraction. Explain yourself immediately.”
“If not sooner,” said Hester.
“Yes.” Lester said. “Time is a proviso that my creditors have not counted on and may not be willing to wait for.”
“It is quite clear and quite legal. Oh, legal, I assure you. Quite.” Brewster waved his extraction with one hand and patted the document with the other. “It is provided that the family shall inherit the estate after, I repeat after, it has been held intact during the lifetime of Senorita Fogarty, and that during her lifetime it shall be used solely to provide for her comfort and welfare. The Crumps are appointed guardians. They are specifically admonished to spare no expense and to take all necessary precautions to assure Senorita Fogarty a long life and a happy one. They will, of course, remain in residence in this house.”
“Are you saying,” said Flo, “that Father was keeping a woman? At his age?”
“Not only a woman,” Hester said, “but apparently a half-breed. Spanish and Irish, from the sound of it They’re the very worst kind.”
“I’ve always contended,” said Aunt Madge, “that he was a wicked old man.”
“Who precisely,” said Lester, “is Senorita Fogarty?”
The answer to this question was clearly the joker that Junior and Lester had suspected, and that Brewster had deliberately kept buried in the deck. Or buried, rather, in his extraction.
“Senorita Fogarty,” he said with an angular gesture, “is there. On Madge’s lap. Fogarty is, it seems, Senorita’s surname. Apparently you were not aware of it.”
Six pairs of eyes turned in various directions to stare at Grandfather’s Chihuahua with unanimous horror.
“Are we seriously to understand,” said Uncle Homer, “that Father left an estate worth ten million dollars in trust for that? For a dog?”
“Exactly and legally,” Brewster said. “During her lifetime.”
Senorita Fogarty was swept with a startled yip from Aunt Madge’s lap.
“Get down,” she said, “you nasty, naked little bitch.”
3
Thus summarily evicted, Senorita Fogarty fell into a fit of trembling that shook her violently from end to end. She looked back at Aunt Madge with confusion and terror in her soft little bulging eyes, and then, as if turning in trauma to the security of the law, she scurried over and stood near the feet of Willis Brewster. The lawyer looked down at her with active distaste, prepared to kick her if she came any closer. He considered Senorita a delight insofar as she was a bedevilment of Grandfather Hunter’s family, that was apparent, but it was equally apparent that he did not intend to tolerate intimacies even from her, however rich she was.
It was Mrs. Crump, in the end, who emerged as Senorita’s protector. Heaving herself into motion, she plunged across the room and swept the little bitch into her arms, pinning her in an instant upon her broad bosom. Senorita let out one terrified yelp and then resigned herself limply to whatever horror might be pending. Mrs. Crump, without a word, favored each of the secondary heirs with a stony stare, showing not the slightest partiality in her formidable animus, and afterward made an exit that was a triumph of outsized disdain.
“What’s the matter with her?” Uncle Homer said. “Where the hell is she going with that dog?”
“I should say,” said Brewster, “that she is removing it from peril. From peril. After all, a dog worth ten million dollars cannot be abandoned to the hazards of ordinary associations. No, indeed. To be charged with the custody of such a dog is a heavy responsibility. One must be constantly on the alert for brigands of all sorts. Of all sorts.”
“Brewster, you scoundrel, are you implying that we are brigands?”
“Pish, Homer. Pish, pish. Permit me to remind you that I’m an attorney of long experience. Long experience. I have seen more than one person tempted to skuldoggery by a lesser motive. Skuldoggery of the most serious nature.”
“Skuldoggery! By God, Brewster, this is simply too much! Do you actually have the effrontery to make jokes about our misfortune?”
“A small pun. You will permit me, please, a small pun.”
“What is the old devil talking about?” said Flo. “What pun?”
“Never mind,” Lester said. “Brewster, you have been damned derelict in this business, and I don’t mind saying so. You’ve known the terms of Grandfather’s will right along, and you would never have been a party to it if you had any sense of honor whatever.”
“Young Lester, I shall not tolerate such aspersions. Aspersions. Your grandfather was in full possession of his faculties, and had every legal right to leave his estate as he pleased. Every legal right.”
“Well,” said Hester, “you should at least have warned us. It’s quite a shock to find yourself suddenly the victim of such a monstrous deception.”
“I was charged with secrecy. It would have been unethical to divulge the terms. Unethical. My advice as an attorney is that you should all accept the situation as it is and resign yourselves to waiting for the demise of Senorita Fogarty as you waited for that of Artemus Hunter. Chihuahuas, I understand, do not live long.”
“When this becomes known in certain quarters,” said Lester, “she may damn well live longer than I.”