mirror of the hatrack, topped by a carved fox's head; and he added sarcastically: "I expect you'll 'ave time to order yerself a new touring car, in cise you're the old lidy's heir."
"There isn't any 'in case,'" said Wakefield, on a sudden impulse. "I am."
"Of course you are!" jeered Rags. "Sime as I won the Calcutter Sweepstikes! We'll go around the world on a tour together."
"It's all very well to laugh," returned Wakefield, gravely, "but it's the truth! She told me so herself, not long before she died."
Rags gaped at him, duster in hand. He could not help being impressed. "Well, if wot you s'y is true, them in there will get the surprise of their lives."
"Yes," agreed Wakefield, "and they'll feel meaner after shutting me out and all."
"I wish I knew if you're telling the truth."
"You'll know soon enough."
Wakefield went out into the morning. He sauntered along the flower border, brilliant with marigolds, zinnias, and asters. Bright cobwebs veiled the cedar hedge where the sun had not yet struck. A birch-tree was letting fall little yellow leaves into the moist green of the lawn.
What should he do to pass the time until the reading of the will was over? This was an important hour in his life, he felt, and should be spent in no trivial fashion. He began to feel qualms of hunger, but the thought of re-entering the house was intolerable to him. The blue and gold of the morning, the little breezes that skipped about like young lambs, the spaciousness of open air, were necessary to his mood. He strolled, hands in pockets, to the back of the house, and there came upon a tub set beneath an eave, full of rain-water. He squatted beside it, peering at his reflection, darkly bright in the water. So looked the heir to the Whiteoak millions! He lengthened his face, trying to make his nose into a Court nose, and when it began to ache from the strain he eased it with a hideous grimace or two.
The sight of these grimaces reflected made him burst
