on his sterling worth and his part in the drama of industrialism with which he had grown up. They referred guardedly to the reforms he had sponsored and financed. The memories of Comstock and Cato the Censor were resuscitated and paraded like gaunt ghosts through the columns,
vans shoes sale.Every newspaper remarked that he was survived by a single grandson Anthony Comstock Patch of New York.The burial took place in the family plot at Tarrytown. Anthony and Gloria rode in the first carriage too worried to feel grotesque both trying desperately to glean presage of fortune from the faces of retainers who had been with him at the end.They waited a frantic week for decency and then having received no notification of any kind Anthony called up his grandfather's lawyer. Mr. Brett was not he was expected back in an hour. Anthony left his telephone number.It was the last day of November cool and crackling outside with a lustreless sun peering bleakly in at the windows. While they waited for the call ostensibly engaged in reading the atmosphere within and without seemed pervaded with a deliberate rendition of the pathetic fallacy. After an interminable while the bell jingled and Anthony starting violently took up the receiver,
hello kitty vans shoes. Hello ... His voice was strained and hollow. Yes--I did leave word. Who is this please? ... Yes.... Why it was about the estate. Naturally I'm interested and I've received no word about the reading of the will--I thought you might not have my address,
vans shoes for cheap.... What? ... Yes ... Gloria fell on her knees. The intervals between Anthony's speeches were like tourniquets winding on her heart. She found herself helplessly twisting the large buttons from a velvet cushion. Then: That's--that's very very odd--that's very odd--that's very odd. Not even any--ah--mention or any--ah--reason? His voice sounded faint and far away. She uttered a little sound half gasp half cry. Yes I'll see.... All right thanks ... thanks.... The phone clicked. Her eyes looking along the floor saw his feet cut the pattern of a patch of sunlight on the carpet. She arose and faced him with a gray level glance just as his arms folded about her. My dearest he whispered huskily. He did it God damn him! NEXT DAY Who are the heirs? asked Mr. Haight. You see when you can tell me so little about it-- Mr. Haight was tall and bent and beetle-browed. He had been recommended to Anthony as an astute and tenacious lawyer. I only know vaguely answered Anthony. A man named Shuttleworth who was a sort of pet of his has the whole thing in charge as administrator or trustee or something--all except the direct bequests to charity and the provisions for servants and for those two cousins in Idaho. How distant are the cousins? Oh third or fourth anyway. I never even heard of them. Mr. Haight nodded comprehensively. And you want to contest a provision of the will? I guess so admitted Anthony helplessly. I want to do what sounds most hopeful--that's what I want you to tell me. You want them to refuse probate to the will? Anthony shook his head. You've got me. I haven't any idea
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