Here was something to think of.  Here was a new and astounding set of circumstances to which he must adapt himself. ...  He experienced no leap of exultation.  The news left him cold.  Queerly, his thoughts in that moment were of Ruth and of her great plan.

“If she had waited...” he thought.

No, he was glad she had not waited.  He did not want her that way. ...  It was not her he wanted, but her love.  He thought bitterly that he would willingly exchange all that had become his for that one possession.  He could have anything—­everything—­he wanted now but that. ...

“I am glad to be able to give you such news,” said Mr. Richmond.

“I was thinking of something else,” said Bonbright.

Richmond looked at the young man obliquely.  He had heard that Bonbright was queer.  This rumor seemed not without foundation.  Richmond could not comprehend how a young man could think of anything else when he had just learned that he was several tunes a millionaire.

“Sit down,” said Bonbright.  “This, of course, makes a difference.”

Richmond seated himself, and drew documents from his green bag.  For half an hour he discussed the legal aspects of the situation and explained to Bonbright what steps must be taken at once.

“I think that is all that will be necessary to-day,” he said, finally.

“Very well. ...  There is no reason why affairs may not go on for a couple of days as they are—­as if father were alive?”

“No, I see no reason why they should not.”

“Very well, then. ...  Will you see to it?  The—­the funeral will be on Saturday.  Monday I shall be in the office.”

“I hope you will call upon me for any assistance or advice you find necessary. ...  Or for any service of whatsoever nature. ...  Good afternoon. ...  Will you convey my sympathy to Mrs. Foote?”

The rest of that day, and of the days that followed it, Bonbright was trying to find the answer to the question, What does this mean to me? and to its companion question, What shall I do with it?

One paper Richmond had left in Bonbright’s hands, as Richmond’s predecessors had left it in the hands of preceding Bonbright Footes.  It was a copy of the will of the first Bonbright Foote, and the basic law, a sort of Salic law, a family pragmatic sanction for his descendants, through time and eternity.  It laid upon his descendants the weight of his will with respect to the conduct of the business of Bonbright Foote, Incorporated.  Five generations had followed it faithfully, deviating only as new conditions made deviation necessary.  It was all there, all set forth minutely.  Bonbright could visualize that first of his line from the reading of it—­and he could visualize his father.  His father was the sort of man that will would create. ...  He considered himself.  He was not off that piece. ...