The $$30,000 Bequest | Page 9

and concede that
the only really sane explanation of the absence of the notice must
be--and without doubt was--that Tilbury was not dead. There was
something sad about it, something even a little unfair, maybe, but there
it was, and had to be put up with. They were agreed as to that. To Sally
it seemed a strangely inscrutable dispensation; more inscrutable than
usual, he thought; one of the most unnecessary inscrutable he could call
to mind, in fact--and said so, with some feeling; but if he was hoping to
draw Aleck he failed; she reserved her opinion, if she had one; she had
not the habit of taking injudicious risks in any market, worldly or other.
The pair must wait for next week's paper--Tilbury had evidently
postponed. That was their thought and their decision. So they put the
subject away and went about their affairs again with as good heart as
they could.
Now, if they had but known it, they had been wronging Tilbury all the
time. Tilbury had kept faith, kept it to the letter; he was dead, he had
died to schedule. He was dead more than four days now and used to it;
entirely dead, perfectly dead, as dead as any other new person in the
cemetery; dead in abundant time to get into that week's SAGAMORE,
too, and only shut out by an accident; an accident which could not
happen to a metropolitan journal, but which happens easily to a poor
little village rag like the SAGAMORE. On this occasion, just as the
editorial page was being locked up, a gratis quart of strawberry
ice-water arrived from Hostetter's Ladies and Gents Ice-Cream Parlors,
and the stickful of rather chilly regret over Tilbury's translation got

crowded out to make room for the editor's frantic gratitude.
On its way to the standing-galley Tilbury's notice got pied. Otherwise it
would have gone into some future edition, for WEEKLY
SAGAMORES do not waste "live" matter, and in their galleys "live"
matter is immortal, unless a pi accident intervenes. But a thing that gets
pied is dead, and for such there is no resurrection; its chance of seeing
print is gone, forever and ever. And so, let Tilbury like it or not, let him
rave in his grave to his fill, no matter--no mention of his death would
ever see the light in the WEEKLY SAGAMORE.






CHAPTER IV
Five weeks drifted tediously along. The SAGAMORE arrived regularly
on the Saturdays, but never once contained a mention of Tilbury Foster.
Sally's patience broke down at this point, and he said, resentfully:
"Damn his livers, he's immortal!"
Aleck give him a very severe rebuke, and added with icy solemnity:
"How would you feel if you were suddenly cut out just after such an
awful remark had escaped out of you?"
Without sufficient reflection Sally responded:
"I'd feel I was lucky I hadn't got caught with it IN me."

Pride had forced him to say something, and as he could not think of any
rational thing to say he flung that out. Then he stole a base-- as he
called it--that is, slipped from the presence, to keep from being brayed
in his wife's discussion-mortar.
Six months came and went. The SAGAMORE was still silent about
Tilbury. Meantime, Sally had several times thrown out a feeler--that is,
a hint that he would like to know. Aleck had ignored the hints. Sally
now resolved to brace up and risk a frontal attack. So he squarely
proposed to disguise himself and go to Tilbury's village and
surreptitiously find out as to the prospects. Aleck put her foot on the
dangerous project with energy and decision. She said:
"What can you be thinking of? You do keep my hands full! You have
to be watched all the time, like a little child, to keep you from walking
into the fire. You'll stay right where you are!"
"Why, Aleck, I could do it and not be found out--I'm certain of it."
"Sally Foster, don't you know you would have to inquire around?"
"Of course, but what of it? Nobody would suspect who I was."
"Oh, listen to the man! Some day you've got to prove to the executors
that you never inquired. What then?"
He had forgotten that detail. He didn't reply; there wasn't anything to
say. Aleck added:
"Now then, drop that notion out of your mind, and don't ever meddle
with it again. Tilbury set that trap for you. Don't you know it's a trap?
He is on the watch, and fully expecting you to blunder into it. Well, he
is going to be disappointed--at least while I am on deck. Sally!"
"Well?"
"As long as you live, if it's a hundred years, don't you ever make an
inquiry. Promise!"

"All