“Or course,” Westy said, pretending he didn’t see them start, “there’s
other Mitchells here!”
“No.” Mr. Mitchell looked grave. “Not that I know of! My grandfather was
Paul Mitchell.”
“Did you say that these people heard about a sealed envelope in the
family having been willed to my son?” Mrs. Mitchell was now aroused
also.
“Yes, that’s the way I heard it. They saw it in the Santa Fe paper, I
think.”
“You are right, Westy,” the older man said. “That envelope is in this
house now. In my safe and worth a fortune---- Is it possible to wire
Miss and Mrs. Redmond?”
“Yes. It would take two days to reach them, though.”
“That would be all right. It would give us all time. I’ll wire them
enough to get here with and meantime I’ll see my attorney. There’s a
part of the Mitchell fortune that we’ve never been allowed to touch.
Always have been in the dark about it, but can see the light through it
now. When my grandfather willed the sealed envelope to my son we had an
idea it contained instructions of how to dispose of the forbidden part.
I’ll find out if my grandsire had a codicil to the will which would make
my son’s share forfeitable should the envelope be prematurely opened.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Mitchell said, “whatever wrong has been done must be righted
and I guess it looks as though Fate has chosen Westy.” She had risen
simultaneously with him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Come for dinner Sunday and bring your friends,” she said.
They all shook hands and as Westy started to leave he saw the Mexican
butler move from behind a tree and fairly glide into the house. He
called goodnight and young Mitchell walked out with him.
“It’ll be great having you to dinner on Sunday. You can be there when
your friends come; it’ll surprise them. G’night!”
“Good-night!”
Westy felt that he had earned a night’s repose when he got in his room.
Rip was already in bed and Billy and Mr. Wilde were draped in graceless
attitudes about the various chairs. They had the look of having been
waiting for news, so he told them as he undressed.
“You’re some little fixer, Wes!” Mr. Wilde complimented him. “Are they
nice people?”
“Oh, sure,” he answered, “after they thaw out. They invited all of you
dubs up for dinner Sunday.”
“Is that a nice way to speak to Papa Wilde, Westy?”
“No, it’s not considered nice, but it’s more human.”
“You’re a sketch! No, we won’t butt in on this Mitchell affair at
all--not even Rip! It’s going to be your party. We’ll have a chance to
say good-by to Lola and Mrs. Redmond before they go, I guess. Anyhow,
we’re only too tickled that everything looks rosy!”
“Yes, he never questioned their story at all.”
“Then there’s no cause to worry, do you think?”
“No, only about getting to bed,” Billy said between yawns.
Billy could always break up the party.