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TEE CLUE
47
I, Karl Linden, give and bequeath all my property, real and personal, to Kathleen Nesbitt.
Signed this 21st day of Jan., 1912.
Karl Linden. Witnesses:
Carrie Maguire, Elsie Greenbaum.
"Why, they're two of the girls in the store ! ' ' she exclaimed. Then she remembered the whole affair of a few days before.
That night she slept scarcely a wink, thinking of what the morrow might bring forth.
Mr. Barnes, the lawyer, smiled sadly when she called in the morning, with the curious will.
"Strange, but apparently legal," he remarked. "But I trust you have not had too high hopes. "
Kathleen did not confess how high her hopes had run.
"A cedar clothes chest and an old watch are all he left. I shall have them sent to your home. ' '
The girl went home, more than half sick. The chest was already there.
In the evening the doctor called, and shook his head ominously.
"I can promise nothing, Miss Nesbitt, unless your mother gets a change of climate immediately."
"Why speak of it?" asked the girl, wearily. She was folding and refolding a yellow slip of paper, with what seemed to be Chinese hieroglyphics on it. The doctor glanced at it intently a minute.
"That's curious," he said, taking the slip from her hand. "I thought this was a laundry ticket, but when folded this way it forms words in English. That's clever. Did you invent it?"
"Why, what does it say?" asked
Kathleen, her grief-ridden mind now stirred by curiosity.
' ' It reads ' ' — the doctor held it first one way, then another — "it reads, 'False bottom in chest.' "
Kathleen studied it a single instant, then sprang up, and, seizing a flatiron, began demolishing the bottom of the cedar chest that was her legacy.
"For heaven's sake, girl, remember
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KATHLEEN COMES INTO HER INHERITANCE
your mother ! ' ' cautioned the doctor,
in alarm. "That noise will "
"Not this noise," cried the girl, reaching inside and bringing forth two great handfuls of yellow-backed banknotes. "Doctor, tell us where 's the best place for mother to go, for we leave to-morrow ! ' '
The City of Refuge
By L. M. THORNTON
Tis torrid, torrid weather.
What pleasure shall I know. Till shadows cooling gather
And winds refreshing hlow? Why, rest and joy together
Are at the Picture Show.
'Tis stormy, stormy weather And where am I to go,
Till robins prune the feather And sunbeams golden glow?
Why, just one place I'd ratherThe Motion Picture show.