" Mavis dutifully and
honestly said that her own experience had led her to similar
conclusions. She thought that relatives were often more trouble than
they were worth, and she promised never to attempt a regathering of
the scattered Petherick clan.
"You know," he said, "if anything happened to me, you'd be all right.
I have made my will long ago. There's a copy of it in there," and he
pointed to the lower part of the bureau; "while th' instrument itself
lies snug in Mr. Cleaver's safe, over at Manninglea."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't speak of it. I can't bear even to hear
the word." And then, taking alarm, she said he must be feeling really
ill, or such things as wills would never have come into his head.
"Tell me the truth, dear. Tell me what you do feel--truly." And she
asked him all sorts of questions about his health, begging him to
consult a doctor without a day's delay.
"Only a bit tired, Mav--and that's what I never used to feel."
"No, you never did. And I don't at all understand it."
"It's quite natural, my dear."
"Not natural to you."
Then he took her hand, pressed it affectionately, and laughed in his
old jolly way. "My dear, it's nothing--just an excuse for slacking off
now and then.
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