Peter jumped; he had been standing paralyzed for what seemed a long
time. There was a movement beside him--a materials handler, holding
out a sheaf of papers. Lex said: "These have to go to Mr. Lexington's
lawyer. The name is on them."
Clutching the papers for a hold on sanity, Peter cried, "You can't do
this! He didn't build you just so you could--"
Two materials handlers picked him up with steely gentleness and carried
him out.
"Good-by, Mr. Manners," said the sweet, soft voice, and was silent.
* * * * *
He stood shaken while the thin jets of smoke became a column over the
plain building, while the fire engines raced down and strung their
hoses--too late. It was an act of suttee; the widow joining her husband
in his pyre--_being_ his pyre. Only when with a great crash the roof
fell in did Peter remember the papers in his hand.
"Last Will and Testament," said one, and the name of the beneficiary
was Peter's own. "Certificate of Adoption," said another, and it was a
legal document making Peter old man Lexington's adopted son.
Peter Manners stood watching the hoses of the firemen hiss against what
was left of Lex and her husband.
He had got the job.