“I Elijah Peebles Martin, of the city and county of Harrison, in the state of Rhode Island, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make and declare the following, as and for, my last will and testament.’ ... I wish you’d take your head out of that barrel, Nancy, and listen to the document that is going to make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice.”

“I was beyond them anyway.” The young woman in blue serge made one last effectual dive into the depths of excelsior, the topmost billows of which were surging untidily over the edge of a big crate in the middle of the basement floor, and secured a nest of blue and rose colored teacups, which she proceeded to unwrap lovingly and display on a convenient packing box. “Not one single thing broken in this 2 whole lot, Billy.... What is a disposing mind and memory, anyhow?”

“You don’t deserve to know,” the blond young man in the Norfolk jacket assured her, adjusting himself more firmly to the idiosyncrasies of the rackety step-ladder he was striding. “You’re not human about this. Here you are suddenly in possession of a fortune. Money enough to make you independently wealthy for the rest of your life—money you didn’t know the existence of, two weeks ago—fed to you by a gratuitous providence. A legacy is a legacy, and deserves to be treated as such, and I propose to see that it gets what it deserves, without any more shilly-shallying.”

“I’m a busy woman,” Nancy groaned, “and I’ve hammered my finger to a pulp, trying to open this crate, while you perch on a broken step-ladder and prate to me of legacies. The saucers to these cups may be in here, and I can’t wait to find out. I’m perfectly crazy about this ware. It’s English—Wedgewood, you know.”

“I didn’t know.” Billy resignedly let himself to the floor, and appropriated the screwdriver. “I thought Wedgewood was dove color, 3 and consisted chiefly of ladies in deshabille, doing the tango on a parlor ornament. I smashed one in my youth, so I know. There, it’s open now. I may as well unpack what’s here. These seem to be demi-tasses.

he finished lugubriously, in a wailing baritone, taking an imaginary encore by bowing a head picturesquely adorned with a crop of excelsior curls, accumulated during his activities in and about the barrel.

“The trouble with the average tea-room, or Arts and Crafts table d’hÔte,” Nancy said, sinking into the depths of a broken armchair in the corner of the dim, overcrowded interior, “is that when the pinch comes, quantity is sacrificed to quality. Smaller portions of food, and chipped chinaware. People who can’t keep a place up, let it run down genteelly. They won’t compromise on quality. I should never be like that. I should go to the ten-cent stores and replenish my whole establishment, if I couldn’t make it pay with imported ware and Colonial 4 silver. I’d never go to the other extreme. I’d never be so perceptibly second-rate, but in the matter of furnishings as well as food values, I’d find my perfect balance between quality and quantity, and keep it.”

“I believe you would. You are a thorough child, when you set about a thing. I’ll bet you know the restaurant business from A to Z.”

“I do. You know, I studied the organization of every well-run restaurant in New York, when I was doing field work from Teachers’ College. I’ve read every book on the subject of Diet and Nutrition and Domestic Economy that I could get my hands on. I’m just ready now for the practical application of all my theories.”

“Nancy Calory Martin is your real name. I don’t blame you for hating to give up this tea-room idea. You’ve dug so deep into the possibilities of it, that you want to go through. I get that.”

Nancy’s eyes widened in satiric admiration.

“You could understand almost anything, couldn’t you, Billy?” she mocked.

“All I want now,” Billy continued imperturbably, “is a chance to make you understand 5 something.” He smote the document in his left hand. “Of course, your uncle’s lawyer has explained all the details in his letters to you, but if you won’t read the letters or familiarize yourself with the contents of this will, somebody has got to explain it to you in words of one syllable. My legal training, slight as it is—”

“Sketchy is the better word, don’t you think so, Billy?”

“Slight as it is”—except for a prodigious frown, Billy ignored the interruption, though he took advantage of her suddenly upright position to encircle her neatly with a barrel hoop, as if she were the iron peg in a game of quoits—“enables me to put the fact before you in a few short, sharp, well-chosen sentences. I won’t again attempt to read the document—”

“You’d better not,” Nancy interrupted witheringly, “your delivery is poor. Besides, I don’t want to know what is in that will. If I had, it stands to reason that I would have found out long before this. I’ve had it three days.”

“You’ve had it three days and never once looked into it?” Billy groaned. “Who started all this scandal about the curiosity of women, anyway?”

“I don’t want to know what’s in it,” Nancy insisted. “As long as I’m not in possession of any definite facts, I can ignore it. I’ve got the kind of mind that must deal with concrete facts concretely.”

Billy grinned. “I’d hate the job of trying to subpoena you,” he said, “but you’d make a corking good witness, on the stand. Of course, you can proceed for a certain length of time on the theory that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, but take it from me, little girl, what you ought to know and don’t know is the thing that’s bound to hurt you most tremendously in the long run. What are you afraid of, anyway, Nancy?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Nancy corrected him, with some heat. “I just plain don’t want to be interrupted at this stage of my career. I consider it an impertinence of Uncle Elijah, to make me his heir. I never saw him but once, and I had no desire to see him that time. It was about ten years ago, and I caught a grippe germ from him. He told me between sneezes that I was too big a girl to wear a mess of hair streaming down my back like a baby. I stuck out my tongue at him, but he was 7 too near-sighted to see it. Why couldn’t he have left his money to an eye and ear infirmary? Or the Sailors’ Snug Retreat? Or—or—”

“If you really don’t want the money,” Billy said, “it’s your privilege to endow some institution—”

“You know very well that I can’t get rid of money that way,” Nancy cried hotly. “I am at least a responsible person. I don’t believe in these promiscuous, eleemosynary institutions. It would be against all my principles to contribute money to any such philanthropy. I know too much about them—but he didn’t. He could have disposed of his money to any one of a dozen of these mid-Victorian charities, but no—he was just one of those old parties that want to shift their responsibilities on to young shoulders, and so he chose mine.”

“You don’t speak very kindly of your dear dead relative.”

“I don’t feel very kindly toward him. He was a meddling old creature. He never gave any member of the family a cent when they wanted it and needed it. Now that I’ve just got my life in shape, and know what I want to 8 do with it without being beholden to anybody on earth, he leaves me a whole lot of superfluous money.”

“If I weren’t engaged to Caroline, who is a jealous woman, though I say it as shouldn’t, I’d be tempted to undertake the management of your fortune myself,” Billy said reflectively; “as it is—honor—”

“I know what I want to do with my life,” Nancy continued, as if he had not spoken. “I want to run an efficiency tea-room and serve dinner and breakfast and tea to my fellow men and women. I want the perfectly balanced ration, perfectly served, to be my contribution to the cause of humanity.”

She looked about her ruefully. The sun, through the barred dusty windows, struck in long slant rays, athwart the confusion of the cellar, illuminating piles upon piles of gay, blue latticed chinaware,—cups set out methodically in rows on the lids and bottoms of packing boxes; assorted sizes of plates and saucers, graded pyramidically, rising from the floor. There were also individual copper casseroles and serving dishes, and a heterogeneous assortment of Japanese basketry tangled in excelsior 9 and tissue. A wandering sunbeam took her hair, displaying its amber, translucent quality.

“I’ve just got capital enough to get it going right; to swing it for the first year, even if I don’t make a cent on it. It’s my one big chance to do my share in the world, and to work out my own salvation. This legacy is a menace to all my dreams and plans.”

“I see that,” Billy said. “What I don’t see is what you gain by refusing to let it catch up with you.”

“You’re not it till you’re tagged. That’s all. If I don’t know whether my income is going to be five thousand dollars or twenty-five thousand a year, I can go on unpacking teacups with—”

Billy whistled.

“Five thousand or twenty-five—my darling Nancy! You’ll have fifty thousand a year at the very lowest estimate. The actual money is more than five hundred thousand dollars. The stock in the Union Rubber Company will amount to as much again, maybe twice as much. You’re a real heiress, my dear, with wads of real money to show for it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Fifty thousand a year!” Nancy turned a 10 shocked face, from which the color slowly drained, leaving it blue-white. “Fifty thousand a year! You’re mad. It can’t be!”

“Yes’um. Fifty thousand at least.”

Nancy’s pallor increased. She closed her eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Billy said sharply. “No woman can faint on me just because she’s had money left her. You make me feel like the ghost of Hamlet’s father.”

Nancy clutched at his sleeve.

“Don’t, Billy!” she besought. “I’m past joking now. Fifty thousand a year! Why, Uncle Elijah bought fifteen-dollar suits and fifteen-cent lunches. How could a retired sea captain get all that money by investing in a little rubber, and getting to be president of a little rubber company?”

“That’s how. Be a good sensible girl, and face the music.”

“I’ll have to give up the tea-room.”

Billy laid a consolatory arm over her shoulder, and patted her awkwardly.

“Cheer up,” he said, “there’s worse things in this world than money. The time may come when you’ll be grateful to your poor little old 11 uncle, for his nifty little fifty thousand per annum.”

Nancy turned a tragic face to him.

“I tell you I’m not grateful to him,” she said, “and I doubt if I ever will be. I don’t want the stupid money. I want to work life out in my own way. I know I’ve got it in me, and I want my chance to prove it. I want to give myself, my own brain and strength, to the job I’ve selected as mine. Now, it’s all spoiled for me. I’m subsidized. I’m done for, and I can’t see any way out of it.”

“You can give the money away.”

“I can’t. Giving money away is a special science of itself. If I devote my life to doing that as it should be done, I won’t have time or energy for anything else. I’m not a philanthropist in that sense. I wanted my restaurant to be philanthropic only incidentally. I wanted to cram my patrons with the full value of their money’s worth of good nourishing food; to increase the efficiency of hundreds of people who never suspected I was doing it, by scientific methods of feeding. That’s my dream.”

“A good little dream, all right.”

“To make people eat the right food; to help 12 them to a fuller and more effective use of themselves by supplying them with the proper fuel for their functions.”

“You could buy a chain of restaurants with the money you’ve got.”

“I don’t want a chain of restaurants.”

“You can endow a perpetual diet squad. You can buy out the whole Life Extension Institute. If you would only stop to think of the advantages of having all the money you wanted to spend on anything you wanted, you’d—”

“Billy,” Nancy said solemnly, “I’ve been through all that. If I had thought I would have been a better person with a great deal of money at my disposal, I—I might have—”

“Married Dick,” Billy finished for her. “I forgot that interesting possibility. I suppose to a girl who has just turned down a cold five millions, this meager little proposition”—he flourished the crumpled document in his hand—“has no real allure. Lord! What a world this is. You’ll marry Dick yet. Them as has—gits. It never rains but it pours. To the victor belong the spoils, et cetera, et cetera—”

“Money simply does not interest me.”

“Dick interests you. I don’t know to what extent, but he interests you.”

“Don’t be sentimental, Billy. Just because you’re in love with Caroline, you can’t make all your other friends marry each other. Tell me what to do about this legacy. What is customary when you get a lump of money like that? I suppose I’ll have to begin to get rid of all this immediately.” There was more than a hint of tears in her voice, but she smiled at Billy bravely. “I’m so perfectly crazy about these—these cups and saucers, Billy. See the lovely way that rose is split to fit into the design. Oh, when do I come into possession, anyway?”

“You don’t come into possession right away, you know. You don’t inherit for a couple of years, under the Rhode Island law. The formalities will take—”

“Billy Boynton, do you mean to say that I won’t have to do a blessed thing about this money for two years?” Nancy shrieked.

“Why, no. It takes a certain amount of red tape to settle an estate, to probate a will, etc., and the law allows a period of time, varying in different states—”

“Oho! Is there anything in all this universe so stupid as a man?” Nancy interrupted fervently. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? Do you suppose I care how much money I have two years from now? Two years of freedom, why, that’s all I want, Billy. There you’ve been sitting up winking and blinking at me like a sympathetic old owl, when all I needed to know was that I had two years of grace. Of course, I’ll go on with my tea-room, and not a soul shall know the difference.”

“While the feminine temperament has my hearty admiration and my most cordial endorsement,” Billy murmured, “there are things about it—”

“I won’t have to tell anybody, will I?”

“There’s no law to that effect. If your friends don’t know it from you, they’re not likely to hear it.”

“I haven’t mentioned it,” Nancy said. “I only told you, because it seemed rather in your line of work, and I was getting so much mail about it, I thought it would be wise to have some one look it over.”

“I’ve given up my law practice and Caroline for three days in your service.”

“You’ve done more than well, Billy, and I’m grateful to you. Of course, you would have saved me days of nervous wear and tear if it had only occurred to you to tell me the one simple little thing that was the essential point of the whole matter. If I had known that I didn’t inherit for two years, I wouldn’t have cared what was in that will.”

Billy stared at her feelingly.

“A peculiar sensation always comes over me,” he said musingly, “after I spend several hours uninterruptedly in the society of a woman who is using her mind in any way. I couldn’t explain it to you exactly. It’s a kind of impression that my own brain has begun to disintegrate, and to—”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Billy.” Nancy soothed him sweetly,—Billy was not one of the people to whom she habitually allowed full conversational leeway: “Swear you won’t tell Caroline or Betty—or Dick.”

“I swear.”

Nancy held out her hand to him.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, “and I appreciate you, which is more than Caroline does, I’m afraid. Run along and see her now—I 16 don’t need you any more, and you’re probably dying to.”

Billy bowed over her hand, lingeringly and politely, but once releasing it, he shook his big frame, and straightening up, drew a long deep breath of something very like relief.

“With all deference to your delightful sex,” he said, “the only society that I’m dying for at the present moment is that of the old family bar-keep.”

As Billy left her, Nancy turned to her basement window, and stood looking out at the quaint stone court he had to cross in order to reach the high gate that guarded the entrance to the marble worker’s establishment, under the shadow of which it was her intention to open her out-of-door tea-room. She watched him dreamily is he made his way among the cinerary urns, the busts and statues and bas-reliefs that were a part of the stock in trade of her incongruous business associate.

In her investigation of the various sorts and conditions of restaurants in New York, she characteristically hit upon the garden restaurant, a commonplace in the down-town table d’hÔte district, as the ideal setting for her 17 adventure in practical philanthropy, while the ubiquitous tea-room and antique-shop combination gave her the inspiration to stage her own undertaking even more spectacularly. Her enterprise was destined to flourish picturesquely in the open court during the fair months of the year, and in the winter months, or in the event of a bad storm, to be housed under the eaves in the rambling garret of the old brick building, the lower floor of which was given over to traffic in marbles.

She sighed happily. Billy, extricating himself from the grasp of an outstretched marble hand, which bad seemed to clutch desperately at his elbow, and narrowly escaping a plunge into a too convenient bird’s bath, turned to see her eyes following him, and waved gaily, but she scarcely realized that he had done so. It was rather with the eye of her mind that she was contemplating the dark, quadrangular area outstretched before her. In spirit she was moving to and fro among the statuary, bringing a housewifely order out of the chaos that prevailed,—placing stone ladies draped in stone or otherwise; cherubic babies, destined to perpetual cold water bathing; strange mortuary 18 furniture, in the juxtaposition that would make the most effective background for her enterprise.

She saw the gritty, gray paving stones of the court cleared of their litter, and scoured free from discoloration and grime, set with dozens of little tables immaculate in snowy napery and shiny silver, and arranged with careful irregularity at the most alluring angle. She saw a staff of Hebe-like waitresses in blue chambray and pink ribbons, to match the chinaware, and all bearing a marked resemblance to herself in her last flattering photograph, moving among a crowd of well brought up but palpably impoverished young people,—mostly social workers and artists. They were all young, and most of them very beautiful. In all her twenty-five years, she had never before been so close to a vision realized, as she was at that moment.

“Outside Inn,” she said to herself, still smiling. “It’s a perfect name for it, really. Outside Inn!”