“Proceed with the proof.”
The solicitor stepped forward.
“I drew the will and superintended its execution. Will Your Honor grant me leave to act as a witness?”
The judge nodded.
“I apprehend there will be no objection.”
Quinlan took up the Bible, and the registrar administered the oath.
“On the morning of April twenty-seventh,” testified the solicitor, “I attended the late John Mack at his home, where he was confined to his bed. With me were Doctor Kelly, Mr. Edward Murphy and Mr. Lemuel Mack, here. Doctor Kelly engaged the testator in conversation in order to determine his mental condition. I asked him if he wished to make a will, whether this paper now offered for probate represented his wishes, and whether he desired the gentlemen with me to act as witnesses. He signified that he did. I then handed him a pen and he subscribed his name. After reading the attestation clause aloud to him, I signed, together with Doctor Kelly and Mr. Murphy.”
“And, in your opinion, was Mr. Mack of sound mind and disposing memory?”
“Beyond any question!”
“Do you wish to cross-examine, Mr. Montrose?”
The K. C. got up.
“If Your Honor please, I ask leave to introduce Mr. Ephraim Tutt, of New York, an eminent member of the bar of that state. He is even more familiar with the facts than I am. I move that he be accorded the privilege of interrogating the witnesses.”
“We all know Mr. Tutt,” the judge smiled. “If he’s as good a lawyer as he is a fisherman, I’ll be glad to hear him.”
He bowed; Montrose, K. C., bowed; Mr. Tutt arose rather weakly and bowed.
For an instant, his eyes sought the entrance to the courtroom. Then he said: “While Lemuel Mack is not a witness, I should like to examine him.”
“That is rather out of order, Mr. Tutt. Are you prepared to concede the technical fulfillment of the legal requirements for execution?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We make no point as to that. I also concede that in calling this witness, we shall make him our own.”
“Then let him be sworn.”
The former cook, exhibiting an unprepossessing pair of blackened eyes, stumbled forward. The judge studied his disfigured appearance with interest. He knew a thing or two himself about Lem.
“How old are you, Mr. Mack?” asked Mr. Tutt.
“Thirty.”
“You are the only child of the testator?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Most anything that comes along.”
“How many times have you been in jail?”
The witness scowled.
“What business is that of yours?”
“Answer the question!” interrupted the judge.
“Twice.”
“For stealing?”
“Once for larceny, once for assault.”
“Do you know this lady here beside me?”
“Sure.”
“Who is she?”
Mack shrugged contemptuously. “Martha MacDonald. She was our cook, did general housework.”
“She was also the only mother you had?”
“My mother died when I was born.”
“Martha brought you up, didn’t she? Taught you your lessons, pulled you out of scrapes, slaved for you, got you what jobs she could, tried to make a man of you?”
“I object!” snapped Quinlan. “He’s attacking his own witness!”
“Technically, yes,” ruled His Honor. “But I’ll allow it.”
The witness did not answer.
“For thirty years,” continued Mr. Tutt, “Martha cooked, washed, cleaned, mended, and when your father fell ill, three years ago, tended him day and night?”
“She lived in the house and was paid for it.”
“You know, don’t you, that she spent all her savings to pay your debts and to procure doctors and medicines for your father?”
“She always seemed to have plenty of money.”
“You are aware that, when her savings were exhausted, she even went out and did washing by the day to earn enough to keep your father alive?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
Mr. Tutt paused again, glanced toward the door and proceeded: “Five years ago, your father kicked you out of the house, didn’t he?”
“I got out.”
“Now, how long was it before you saw him to speak to him again?”
“Not until about three weeks ago, I guess.”
“That was when, owing to some phase of his illness, he became so crotchety that Martha, who was nursing him, could stand it no longer, engaged someone to look after him and went to work at the hotel?”
“I know she left.”
“And you took advantage of her absence to sneak back and reinstate yourself in your father’s favor?”
“I object!” shouted Quinlan.
“Oh, I’ll give Mr. Tutt some leeway,” replied His Honor. “I find this story quite engrossing. It seems to have what, I believe, is sometimes referred to as ‘human interest.’”
“And during this period, which lasted less than a week, you induced him to make a will leaving everything to you?”
“I didn’t induce him! He wanted to!”
“Oh, he did? Didn’t you tell Mr. Quinlan what to put in the will?”
“My father told me first.”
“Did you know what property he owned?”
“Sure.”
“Did you know that he had appointed his ten-thousand-dollar life insurance—his only asset of value—to Martha in recognition of her thirty years’ devotion?”
“He said he was sorry he’d done it.”
“So the chief purpose of the will was to alter the appointment of the policy to yourself?”
“One of the purposes.”
“Did you not know that your father had made the original appointment to Martha, partly to reimburse her for the money she had expended for you and for him?”
“I didn’t know anything about it.”
Mr. Tutt lowered his voice: “Didn’t you think it was a dastardly thing to take advantage of his condition to jockey her out of her inheritance and to deprive her of support in her old age?”
“I object to this!” cried Quinlan. “A man has a right to dispose of his property as he sees fit. My client is his own son; this woman is only——”
“His wife!” finished Mr. Tutt dramatically.
“His wife!” ejaculated judge and solicitor in chorus.
Mr. Tutt turned and beckoned to a messenger from the local post office, who had entered during the debate and was standing by the door with an envelope in his hand.
Tearing