He had a little speech which he always made on such occasions; but to-day, with the knowledge of the astounding contents of that will on his mind, his lips refused to utter it.  He simply bowed, seated himself, and opened the document.  The old-fashioned legal phrases soon were steadying him as the harness steadies an uneasy horse; and he was monotonously and sonorously rolling off paragraph after paragraph.  Except the judge, young Hargrave was the only one there who clearly understood what those wordy provisions meant.  As the reading progressed Dory’s face flushed a deep red which slowly faded, leaving him gray and haggard.  His father’s beloved project! His father’s!  To carry out his father’s project, Arthur and Adelaide, the woman he loved and her brother, were to lose their inheritance.  He could not lift his eyes.  He felt that they were all looking at him, were hurling reproaches and denunciations.

Presently Judge Torrey read:  “I make this disposal of my estate through my love for my children and because I have firm belief in the soundness of their character, and in their capacity to do and to be.  I feel they will be better off without the wealth which would tempt my son to relax his efforts to make a useful man of himself and would cause my daughter to be sought for her fortune instead of for herself.”

At the words “without the wealth,” Arthur shifted sharply in his chair, and both he and Adelaide looked at Judge Torrey in puzzled wonder.  The judge read on, read the names of signer and witnesses, then laid the will down and stared gloomily at it.  Mrs. Ranger said:  “And now, judge, can you tell us in plain words just what it means?”

With many a pause and stammer the old lawyer made it clear:  the house and its contents and appurtenances, and seven thousand a year to the widow for life; two thousand a year to Adelaide; five thousand in cash to Arthur and the chance to earn the mill and factory; the rest, practically the whole estate, to Tecumseh University.

“Any further questions?” he asked, breaking the silence that followed his explanation.

No one spoke.

Still without looking at anyone, he put away his glasses?  “Then I guess I’ll be going.  It won’t be necessary to do anything further for a day or two.”

And, with face like that of criminal slinking from scene of crime, he got himself to the door by a series of embarrassed bows and shuffling steps.  Outside, he wiped the streaming sweat from his forehead.  “It wasn’t my fault,” he muttered, as if some one were accusing him.  Then, a little further from the house, “I ain’t sure Hiram hasn’t done right.  But, God help me, I couldn’t never save my children at such a price.”