CHAPTER II
SHADES OF ALADDIN
Montgomery Brewster no longer had "prospects." People could not nowpoint him out with the remark that some day he would come into amillion or two. He had "realized," as Oliver Harrison would have putit. Two days after his grandfather's funeral a final will and testamentwas read, and, as was expected, the old banker atoned for the hardshipsRobert Brewster and his wife had endured by bequeathing one milliondollars to their son Montgomery. It was his without a restriction,without an admonition, without an incumbrance. There was not asuggestion as to how it should be handled by the heir. The businesstraining the old man had given him was synonymous with conditions notexpressed in the will. The dead man believed that he had drilled intothe youth an unmistakable conception of what was expected of him inlife; if he failed in these expectations the misfortune would be hisalone to bear; a road had been carved out for him and behind himstretched a long line of guide-posts whose laconic instructions mightbe ignored but never forgotten. Edwin Peter Brewster evidently made hiswill with the sensible conviction that it was necessary for him to diebefore anybody else could possess his money, and that, once dead, itwould be folly for him to worry over the way in which beneficiariesmight choose to manage their own affairs.
The house in Fifth Avenue went to a sister, together with a million ortwo, and the residue of the estate found kindly disposed relatives whowere willing to keep it from going to the Home for Friendless Fortunes.Old Mr. Brewster left his affairs in order. The will nominated JeromeBuskirk as executor, and he was instructed, in conclusion, to turn overto Montgomery Brewster, the day after the will was probated, securitiesto the amount of one million dollars, provided for in clause four ofthe instrument. And so it was that on the 26th of September young Mr.Brewster had an unconditional fortune thrust upon him, weighted onlywith the suggestion of crepe that clung to it.
Since his grandfather's death he had been staying at the gloomy oldBrewster house in Fifth Avenue, paying but two or three hurried visitsto the rooms at Mrs. Gray's, where he had made his home. The gloom ofdeath still darkened the Fifth Avenue place, and there was a stillness,a gentle stealthiness about the house that made him long for morecheerful companionship. He wondered dimly if a fortune always carriedthe suggestion of tube-roses. The richness and strangeness of it allhung about him unpleasantly. He had had no extravagant affection forthe grim old dictator who was dead, yet his grandfather was a man andhad commanded his respect. It seemed brutal to leave him out of thereckoning--to dance on the grave of the mentor who had treated himwell. The attitude of the friends who clapped him on the back, of thenewspapers which congratulated him, of the crowd that expected him torejoice, repelled him. It seemed a tragic comedy, haunted by a severedead face. He was haunted, too, by memories, and by a sharp regret forhis own foolish thoughtlessness. Even the fortune itself weighed uponhim at moments with a half-defined melancholy.
Yet the situation was not without its compensations. For several dayswhen Ellis called him at seven, he would answer him and thank fortunethat he was not required at the bank that morning. The luxury ofanother hour of sleep seemed the greatest perquisite of wealth. Hismorning mail amused him at first, for since the newspapers hadpublished his prosperity to the world he was deluged with letters.Requests for public or private charity were abundant, but most of hiscorrespondents were generous and thought only of his own good. Forthree days he was in a hopeless state of bewilderment. He was visitedby reporters, photographers, and ingenious strangers who benevolentlyoffered to invest his money in enterprises with certified futures. Whenhe was not engaged in declining a gold mine in Colorado, worth fivemillion dollars, marked down to four hundred and fifty, he was avoidinga guileless inventor who offered to sacrifice the secrets of amarvelous device for three hundred dollars, or denying the report thathe had been tendered the presidency of the First National Bank.
Oliver Harrison stirred him out early one morning and, while the sleepymillionaire was rubbing his eyes and still dodging the bombshell that adream anarchist had hurled from the pinnacle of a bedpost, urged him inexcited, confidential tones to take time by the forelock and preparefor possible breach of promise suits. Brewster sat on the edge of thebed and listened to diabolical stories of how conscienceless femaleshad fleeced innocent and even godly men of wealth. From the bathroom,between splashes, he retained Harrison by the year, month, day andhour, to stand between him and blackmail.
The directors of the bank met and adopted resolutions lamenting thedeath of their late president, passed the leadership on to the firstvice-president and speedily adjourned. The question of admitting Montyto the directory was brought up and discussed, but it was left for Timeto settle.
One of the directors was Col. Prentiss Drew, "the railroad magnate" ofthe newspapers. He had shown a fondness for young Mr. Brewster, andMonty had been a frequent visitor at his house. Colonel Drew called him"my dear boy," and Monty called him "a bully old chap," though not inhis presence. But the existence of Miss Barbara Drew may have hadsomething to do with the feeling between the two men.
As he left the directors' room, on the afternoon of the meeting,Colonel Drew came up to Monty, who had notified the officers of thebank that he was leaving.
"Ah, my dear boy," said the Colonel, shaking the young man's handwarmly, "now you have a chance to show what you can do. You have afortune and, with judgment, you ought to be able to triple it. If I canhelp you in any way, come and see me."
Monty thanked him.
"You'll be bored to death by the raft of people who have ways to spendyour money," continued the Colonel. "Don't listen to any of them. Takeyour time. You'll have a new chance to make money every day of yourlife, so go slowly. I'd have been rich years and years ago if I'd hadsense enough to run away from promoters. They'll all try to get a whackat your money. Keep your eye open, Monty. The rich young man is alwaysa tempting morsel." After a moment's reflection, he added, "Won't youcome out and dine with us to-morrow night?"