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Updated: May 6, 2025
Johnson produced, from his own personal and private index-file, an oblong gray envelope addressed: To My Son Robert, Upon His Inquiring About the Trusteeship of My Estate Opening this in the privacy of his own office, Bobby read: "As stated in my will, it is none of your present business." "Up to Bobby again," the son commented aloud.
"Nothing whatever at present," said Bobby, trembling with the task of holding himself steady, and walked out, unable to analyze the bitter emotions that surged within him. On the sidewalk, standing beside his automobile, he found Johnson and Applerod waiting for him, and the moment he saw Johnson, cumbered with the big index-file that he carried beneath his arm, he knew why.
"I thought so. I guess your father has summed up, better than I could put it, all there is to be said upon that subject." And from his index-file he produced one of the familiar gray envelopes, inscribed: To My Son Robert Upon the Subject of Bribery "When a man sells his independence and the faith of his friends he is bankrupt.
Johnson, humped over the desk that had once been Bobby's father's, snorted and looked up at the stern portrait of old John Burnit; then he drew from the index-file which he had already placed upon the back of that desk a gray-tinted envelope which he handed to Bobby with a silence that was more eloquent than words.
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