Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 159, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 July 1917 — Mr. Well’s Last Will [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Mr. Well’s Last Will

By JOHN ELKINS

(Copyright, by W. O. Chapman.) “I want you to draw up my will, Mr. Bagg, and I want It done right away, so’s I can get It off my mind. It ain’t because I’m thinking of passing away—don’t know as I ever felt bettor in my life—but that, brother of mine has been pestering me every day to ’tend to It; so to stop his nagging, I’ve come. It ain’t so much to get anxious about, any way, just a pretty good farm and some thousands in the bank. You see, my lawyer, Daggett, has gone to California, and Mr. Black sent me to you, being I was coming to the city.” The speaker, a man past middle-age, with iron-gray hair and a rugged face, whose firm, angular jaw and protruding under lip set the lawyer to wondering how any amount of nagging could have affected such an obstinate, determined nature, took from his pocket some papers which he proceeded to sort out as though he expected the attorney to at once accede to his wishes and get to work. < ‘‘Yes, Mr. Black has been a client of mine,’’ replied Bagg. “As your brother says, it really is a wise thing for a man to make a will, providing for his family.” “I haven’t got any family,” said Marcus Wells. “All I have is to go to my brother, except a little something to the church. I had a daughter once —” “Dead?” asked Bagg, as Wells paused, looking away. “No; I reckon it would be better if She was,” he answered. "I want you to make this will so hard and fast she can never touch a cent of my money.” “That isn’t so easy to do. She is the next of kin, and if she chose to break the will by contesting if, she might win, unless it could be proved she was mentally incompetent.” “Oh, she’s sound enough in the head, smart as a steel trap, and took to her books all right. Her mother died

when she was ten years old, and she made me promise to give her a good education. Well, she got it, and she was sent to Sunday school and grounded in religion, so that she joined the church when she was only fifteen. I’m a Baptist, and I took considerable pride in thinking I’d brought up a girl that would be a decent, God-fear-ing woman, and some comfort to me when I got old. She never went to dances nor card-parties, because I don’t believe in ’em. She never gave much of any trouble till she got to be near seventeen. Then she got the bee in her bonnet that she wanted to go down to the city and take a business course. I wouldn’t hear of any such foolishness. A woman’s place is at home, and she could find plenty to do there. The woman I’d had for a housekeeper was getting old and cranky, and I was looking to my girl •to ‘be taking her- place before long. Wen, she got that restless and flighty I saw I’d got to carry a steady hand.” “Didn’t she have any recreation or amusements?” masked the lawyer. _— "Why, yes; there were the church doings—socials and meetings, and I didn’t object to moving pictures—in moderation. I go “myself” sometimes But no theaters. No, sir. I draw the line there. I never did approve much of her going with that Bowers girl; they weren’t church members, but they among the biggest in the town, and the young folks sort of bragged over being asked there, so I thought I wouldn’t put my foot dow T n against her gplng. I’ve wished now, a good many times, I had. "Well, sir, she met a young fellow from the city'to stay over Sunday, and the minute she brought him to the house, I could see he’d taken a shine to her; and likewise that she thought pretty much of him. He was just the sort a girl might get her head turned with; neat as a pin, clothes right up to' date, good, straight form, good-looking, and a talker to beat the band. A girl just natur-

ally falls for all that stuff, and she did. “I uked the young man pretty well, but I wasn’t going to let things go too far Without finding out something about him and his business. Well, sir, what do you suppose that wolf In sheep’s clothing was?” “A confidence man?” ventured the lawyer. “No, sir; an actor I Well, you’d better believe I put down my foot pretty hard and fast. I told him to never enter my door nor speak to my girl again. I never would have believed it, but she went dead against my wishes; she Just defied me, and said she meant to marry him whether I gave my consent or not. I told her the day she went off with that man would be the last time she looked on me, and she could think it over and take her choice. She tried once after that to sort of win me over. But my foot was down good and hard. She went with him.” “Married?” queried Bagg. “I don’t know. Those actors aren’t particular about that.” m “Oh, yes, they are—Just as particular as anybody that’s decent.” “Do you think so?” asked Wells, in rather a surprised way. “I know so,” was the emphatic answer. “Has your daughter never written or tried to see you?” “She wrote two letters. Her address was on the outside, and I sent ’em back unopened. That was more’n a year ago, and I haven’t seen her for most three.” “What was his name?” “Bayard Leslie. I don’t suppose it was his own—just took it because it sounded fine.” “Bayard Leslie!” repeated the lawyer. “Why he played here. He was a good actor, too. The play wasn’t a success, it was taken off, be was out of an engagement for a while, then he was iirfor a long time, and the Actor’s Fund had to bury him. I remember reading all about it at the time, because it was thought to be an unusually sad and pathetic case, he being so young and promising.” The other man bowed his head and looked down. “So he’s dead,” he said in an awed tone. “Did it say anything about his wife?” “I don’t remember.” — “If he had one it might not have been my girl.” “Did you keep her address?” “No, I don’t know where she is.” “Miss Storey, my stenographer, might know if Leslie left a wife, she knows some stage people. I’ll call her.”» L He touched a button on his desk, and a pretty, businesslike young woman appeared, notebook in hand. Suddenly she stopped, turned very white, and stared at the man before her. His eyes were like one seeing a spectre. He gasped out: “That man—” She broke in quickly: “Don’t speak a word against him! Don’t you dare! He was the dearest, finest soul that ever lived. Don’t come here to set Mr. Bagg against me. I’m earning my living honestly.” “Were you married to him?” asked the father. For answer she held up her hand with the plain gold band on the third finger. “I will give you the name and address of the minister. I suppose that is sufficient.” She turned to go. Then the old man cried out brokenly: “Jessie! don’t go! Don’t!” At the appeal in his voice she turned. “Do you want me father?” she asked. “Yes,” he said." And she went Into his outstretched arms. “I’ll want to make some changes in that will,” he called back to the attorney, as the two left the room together.

Turned Very White, and Stared at the Man Before Her.