"I don't come in ?" I repeated vaguely.
"Ah," reaching down for my hat, "then I go out, as it were;" as brilliant as a London yellow fog.

"What the devil does all this mean ?" I started to rise.
"Wait!" he commanded.

"'To my nephew, John Winthrop, I bequeath the sum of $1,000 to be presented to him in person immediately after this will is probated, and with the understanding that he shall make no further demand upon my son and heir in the future.' That is all," concluded the lawyer, folding the document.

"I have the check in my pocket." "Keep it," said I, rising.

A hot flush of indignation swept over me.
I understood.