THE TWIN BROTHERS
The Pells breakfasted early so that Sydney might catch the 7:30 express
for the city. On the morning following the events narrated in the
preceding chapter the entire family were gathered at the table with the
exception of Rex, who was invariably late, and Sydney himself.
“It’s very strange,” remarked Mrs. Pell “He is always on time. He can
barely catch his train now. I wish you, Roy, would run up to his room
and see what is the matter. He may be ill.”
Roy soon ascended the two flights of stairs to the apartment with the
dormer window that had always been Syd’s. The door was open and the
room was empty. The bed had been slept in, but the suit Syd had worn
the day before was not about. He had evidently dressed and gone.
“I wonder if he can be up at Mr. Tyler’s?” thought Roy.
He returned to the dining room with his report.
“It is very odd,” remarked Mrs. Pell. “It is not like Sydney to go off
in that way, but he will explain when he comes home to-night. He may
have been obliged to go to town at seven on business for Mr. Tyler.”
“That’s so; what did the old gentleman want with Syd,” asked Jessie,
turning to Roy. “You were so sleepy when you came home last night that
you didn’t half satisfy our curiosity.”
“He wanted him to make his will,” answered Roy.
“And did he?” went on Jess.
“Yes. I say, mother, hadn’t I better go and stir up Rex? I’m afraid
he’s gone off to sleep again.”
“There, he’s coming now. I hear his step on the stairs, so you just sit
still and answer my questions. I’m not half through yet,” and Jess
checked off on her fingers the two queries to which she had already had
responses. “Now then, is he as rich as we all thought him?”
“Richer. Good afternoon to you, Rex. Better late than never. I’m going
to keep you company, by taking a second cup of coffee. Mother, may I,
please?”
“Royal Pell, what is the matter with you?” exclaimed Jess. “You haven’t
been like the same fellow since you climbed up to that trestle
yesterday afternoon. You seem to be trying to keep something back.
Don’t you notice it, mother?”
“I have,” put in Rex, before Mrs. Pell could speak. “I couldn’t get a
word out of him before he went to sleep last night. One would think
he’d had a trouble like mine to bear,” and Rex sighed with the air of a
martyr.
Roy glanced over at him quickly. What would this luxury loving brother
of his say if he only knew! But Roy did not dare tell yet. Mr. Tyler
might live for years, and have ample opportunity to change his mind
about his will. Yes, it was better to keep the matter to himself as
long as he could.
“What’s queer about me?” he said now.
“Why, you’re giving such short answers to our questions about the old
miser,” returned Jess promptly. “As a rule you’d tell us all we wanted
to know without our having to draw it out as if we were pulling teeth.”
“Well, what is it you want to know?”
“Oh, all about your experience over at Mr. Tyler’s. The people up in
the town will hear about your being there and will expect us to know
all the details. It is quite an event for a queer old character like
the Burdock miser to make a will.”
“But people when they make their wills don’t usually tell everybody in
the house what they put into them. It’s a sort of confidential matter,
don’t you understand?”
“I’ll wager you know all about it, Roy,” broke in Rex suddenly,
dropping the biscuit he was buttering and staring at his brother
fixedly for a moment “I shouldn’t be surprised if the old fellow had
made you his heir for what you did for him.”
“Well, if he did,” answered Roy with a smile, “it wouldn’t enable you
to take that trip to Canada, as he isn’t dead yet and may live to be
ninety.”
“He’s just the kind that do hang on,” remarked Jess. “People that
nobody seems to care about generally do.”
“That reminds me, mother,” added Rex, “if I don’t go on this trip
there’ll be a lot of money saved. Can’t I have some of it spent for a
new tennis suit? I need one badly.”
Mrs. Pell smiled, a little sadly though.
“My dear boy,” she rejoined, “there is your patent method of
manufacturing money again. You conceive a desire for something very
expensive, then when you give that up and select something much
cheaper, you imagine that you have saved more than enough to pay for
it.”
“It’s a thundering grind to be decently poor any way.” Rex pushed back
his chair suddenly, his brow clouded with a frown as it had been the
afternoon before down on the log.
“‘Decently poor!’ What do you mean by that, Rex?” asked Eva.
“Oh, to have the taste and wish for nice things and the privilege of
going with nice people who own them, and yet not be able to have them
yourself. I sometimes wish I was like black Pete. He doesn’t know any
better than to be contented if he makes a dollar or two a week.”
“Oh, Reggie, Reggie!” murmured Mrs. Pell sadly.
This one of her boys caused her more anxiety than all the other
children combined. He was so proud, so aspiring, and yet he had not
half the ability of Roy, who was rather overshadowed by the other’s
dashing, winning manner. For Rex could be charming when he so minded.
He went out on the side piazza now and began to shy strawberries at two
of the puppies. The berries had just been picked and left by the cook
on the window sill for the girls to hull.
“Rex,” exclaimed Roy severely, coming out upon him suddenly. “Aren’t
you ashamed to use those berries in that way?”
Roy hated waste above all things.
Rex checked the toss he was about to make, and transferred the berry to
his mouth instead.
“Has your majesty any objections to that disposition of the fruit?” he
asked with an assumption of the courtliness that became him so well.
“Well, it’s a legitimate disposition at any rate,” returned Roy. Then
he went out to the barn to feed the chickens and look after the cow,
for the Pells kept no hired man. The boys attended to the kitchen
garden—at least Roy did most of it, and there had been no horses kept
by the family since shortly after Mr. Pell’s death.
This was another of Rex’s trials.
“Think of living in the country without a horse!” he would exclaim.
“And then to have the stable on the place into the bargain! It’s enough
to make the horse we haven’t got laugh.”
To be sure he had plenty of rides. The Bowmans who came down to Marley
for the summer, were very fond of him, and nearly every day during the
summer Scott took him out in his cart.
But Rex sighed to return this hospitality. All of his friends were glad
to come down to the Pellery, as Rex called it, for Mrs. Pell was a
great favorite and the young people were lively and bright. Rex
fretted, however, because he had no “attractions” to offer them.
He was feeling particularly gloomy this morning. Having exhausted
himself in regretting the good time he would lose in not being able to
go with the Bowmans, he had taken to lamenting his condition here in
Marley during vacation with Scott away. He was not so fond of reading
as was Roy, and without plenty of congenial society, he was apt to find
that time hung heavy on his hands.
Scott had gone to Philadelphia this morning to make some purchases for
his journey. He would not be back till afternoon. Rex had not yet
planned what to do with himself in the meantime.
“Where are you going?” he called out presently, when he saw Roy walking
down toward the gate.
“Over to Mr. Tyler’s to see how he is. Want to come?”
“I believe I do,” answered Rex slowly. “Hold on a minute till I get my
cap.”
Roy was rather surprised that his brother should wish to go. He
wondered just how Mr. Tyler would like his bringing him. Then he
remembered what the miser had said about Rex reminding him somewhat of
Maurice Darley and thought perhaps he might be glad to see him on this
account.
It was cooler than it had been the previous day. The country about
Marley and Burdock was beautiful, extremely rolling and rich in
vegetation, so the walk was a pleasant one.
“Say, did Mr. Tyler really have Syd make his will last night?” asked
Rex as they were crossing the covered bridge over the creek.
“Yes,” answered Roy.
“Did he have much to leave?” went on Rex, stooping down as they emerged
on the road again, to pluck a tall blade of grass which he began to
munch between his white teeth.
“About half a million.” Roy thought he might as well tell this. He knew
that if he tried to evade the question his brother would be apt to
think he was keeping something back.
“What?” Rex stopped stock still in the road to utter the exclamation.
“That old bag of bones worth half a million dollars! Nonsense.”
“I think it’s more likely he should be worth that amount,” returned
Roy, “than the Bowmans, for instance, who seem to spend their income
right up to the handle. You know everybody has always thought Mr. Tyler
had money.”
“I know they have, but such a sum as that!”
Rex walked on again, knitting his brows in thought. There was silence
between the boys while they ascended the hill on the opposite side of
the creek. Then as they reached the top, Rex was about to ask another
question when Roy clutched his arm suddenly.
“Look there,” he cried. “Isn’t that undertaker Green’s wagon in front
of the house? Mr. Tyler must be dead!”