“How do you do, Mr. Vandover?” he said, very pleasantly as Vandover passed by the servant holding open the door and came in.

“How do you do, Mr. Field?” answered Vandover, shaking his hand.  “Well, I’m sorry to see you like this.”

“Yes,” answered the lawyer, “I’m—­I have trouble with my digestion sometimes, more annoying than dangerous, I suppose.  Take a chair, won’t you?  You can find a place for your hat and coat right on the table there.  Well,” he added, settling back on the pillows and looking at Vandover pleasantly, “I think you’ve grown thinner since the last time I saw you, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Vandover grimly, “I guess I have.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so, of course,” responded the lawyer with a vague air of apology and sympathy.  “You have had a trying time of it lately, taking it by and large.  I was very painfully shocked to hear of your father’s death.  I had met him at lunch hardly a week before; he was a far heartier man than I was.  Eat?  You should have seen—­splendid appetite.  He spoke at length of you, I remember; told me you expected to go abroad soon to study painting; in fact, I believe he was to go to Paris with you.  It was very sad and very sudden.  But you know we’ve all been expecting—­been fearing—­that for some time.”

They both were silent for a moment, the lawyer looking absently at the foot-board of the bed, nodding his head slowly from time to time, repeating, “Yes, sir—­yes, sir.”  Suddenly he exclaimed, “Well—­now, let’s see.”  He cleared his throat, coming back to himself again, and continued in a very businesslike and systematic tone: 

“I have looked over your father’s papers, Mr. Vandover, as you requested me to, and I have taken the liberty of sending for you to let you know exactly how you stand.”

“That’s the idea, sir,” said Vandover, very attentive, drawing up his chair.

Mr. Field took a great package of oblong papers from the small table that stood at the head of his bed, and looked them over, adjusting his eyeglasses.  “Well, now, suppose we take up the real property first,” he continued, drawing out three or four of these papers and unfolding them.  “All of your father’s money was invested in what we call ’improved realty.’”

He talked for something over an hour, occasionally stopping to answer a question of Vandover’s, or interrupting himself to ask him if he understood.  At the end it amounted to this: 

The bulk of the estate was residence property in distant quarters of the city.  Some twenty-six houses, very cheaply built, each, on an average, renting for twenty-eight dollars.  When all of these were rented, the gross monthly income was seven hundred and twenty-eight dollars.  At this time, however, six were vacant, bringing down the gross receipts per month to five hundred and sixty dollars.  The expenses, which included water, commissions for collecting, repairs, taxes, interest on insurance, etc., when expressed in the terms of a monthly average, amounted to one hundred and eighty-six dollars.