And then, in this December of the year 1910, fell as from a clear sky the legacy of a grandson.From Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza the Snows had had no direct word, had received nothing save the newspaper clipping already mentioned.Olive had never seen him;her husband had seen him only on the occasion of the memorable interview in the hotel room.They never spoke of him, never mentioned him to each other.Occasionally, in the Boston newspapers, his likeness in costume had appeared amid the music notes or theatrical jottings.But these had not been as numerous of late.Of his son, their own daughter's child, they knew nothing; he might be alive or he might be dead.Sometimes Olive found herself speculating concerning him, wondering if he was alive, and if he resembled Jane.But she put the speculation from her thoughts; she could not bear to bring back memories of the old hopes and their bitter ending.Sometimes Captain Lote at his desk in the office of "Z.Snow & Co., Lumber and Builders' Hardware,"caught himself dreaming of his idolized daughter and thinking how different the future might have been for him had she married a "white man," the kind of man he had meant for her to marry.There might be grandchildren growing up now, fine boys and girls, to visit the old home at South Harniss."Ah hum! Well!...Labe, how long has this bill of Abner Parker's been hangin' on? For thunder sakes, why don't he pay up? He must think we're runnin' a meetin'-house Christmas tree."The letter from the lawyer had come first.It was written in New York, was addressed to "Captain Lotus Snow," and began by taking for granted the fact that the recipient knew all about matters of which he knew nothing.Speranza was dead, so much was plain, and the inference was that he had been fatally injured in an automobile accident, "particulars of which you have of course read in the papers." Neither Captain Lote nor his wife had read anything of the kind in the papers.The captain had been very busy of late and had read little except political news, and Mrs.Snow never read of murders and accidents, their details at least.She looked up from the letter, which her husband had hastened home from the office to bring her, with a startled face.
"Oh, Zelotes," she cried, "he's dead!"
The captain nodded.
"Seems so," he said."That part's plain enough, but go on.The rest of it is what I can't get a hand-hold on.See what you make of the rest of it, Olive."The rest of it was to the effect that the writer, being Mr.
Speranza's business adviser, "that is to say, as much or more so than any one else," had been called in at the time of the accident, had conferred with the injured man, and had learned his last wishes."He expressed himself coherently concerning his son," went on the letter, "and it is in regard to that son that I am asking an interview with you.I should have written sooner, but have been engaged with matters pertaining to Mr.Speranza's estate and personal debts.The latter seem to be large--""I'LL bet you!" observed Captain Zelotes, sententiously, interrupting his wife's reading by pointing to this sentence with a big forefinger.
"'And the estate's affairs much tangled,'" went on Olive, reading aloud."'It seems best that I should see you concerning the boy at once.I don't know whether or not you are aware that he is at school in ----, New York.I am inclined to think that the estate itself will scarcely warrant the expense of his remaining there.
Could you make it convenient to come to New York and see me at once? Or, if not, I shall be in Boston on Friday of next week and can you meet me there? It seems almost impossible for me to come to you just now, and, of course, you will understand that I am acting as a sort of temporary executor merely because Mr.Speranza was formerly my friend and not because I have any pecuniary interest in the settlement of his affairs.
"'Very truly yours, "'MARCUS W.WEISSMANN.'""Weissman! Another Portygee!" snorted Captain Lote.
"But--but what does it MEAN?" begged Mrs.Snow."Why--why should he want to see you, Zelotes? And the boy--why--why, that's HERboy.It's Janie's boy he must mean, Zelotes."Her husband nodded.
"Hers and that blasted furriner's," he muttered."I suppose so.""Oh, DON'T speak that way, Zelotes! Don't! He's dead."Captain Lote's lips tightened."If he'd died twenty years ago 'twould have been better for all hands," he growled.
"Janie's boy!" repeated Olive slowly."Why--why, he must be a big boy now.Almost grown up."Her husband did not speak.He was pacing the floor, his hands in his pockets.
"And this man wants to see you about him," said Olive.Then, after a moment, she added timidly: "Are you goin', Zelotes?""Goin'? Where?"
"To New York? To see this lawyer man?"
"I? Not by a jugful! What in blazes should I go to see him for?""Well--well, he wants you to, you know.He wants to talk with you about the--the boy.""Humph!"
"It's her boy, Zelotes."
"Humph! Young Portygee!"
"Don't, Zelotes! Please!...I know you can't forgive that--that man.We can't either of us forgive him; but--"The captain stopped in his stride."Forgive him!" he repeated.
"Mother, don't talk like a fool.Didn't he take away the one thing that I was workin' for, that I was plannin' for, that I was LIVIN'
for? I--"
She interrupted, putting a hand on his sleeve.
"Not the only thing, dear," she said."You had me, you know."His expression changed.He looked down at her and smiled.
