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Updated: May 7, 2025
'You will? said the other. 'Good boy! You go and get into some clothes and come along. I'm sorry, what did you say your name was? 'Chalmers. 'Mine's Boyd Nutcombe Boyd. 'Boyd! cried Bill. Nutty took his astonishment, which was too great to be concealed, as a compliment. He chuckled. 'I thought you would know the name if you were a pal of Gates's. I expect he's always talking about me.
And while he waited, perplexed, Claire made a false step. The thing had been so close to the top of her mind ever since she had come to the knowledge of it that it had been hard for her to keep it down. Now she could keep it down no longer. 'How wonderful about old Mr Nutcombe, Bill! she said. A vast relief rolled over Bill. Despite his instinct, he had been wavering. But now he understood.
'Do you think he has left us his money? 'Do I? Why, what else could he do with it? We are his only surviving relatives, aren't we? I've had to go through life with a ghastly name like Nutcombe as a compliment to him, haven't I? I wrote to him regularly at Christmas and on his birthday, didn't I? Well, then! I have a feeling there will be a letter from the lawyers to-day.
'It's no use sitting there saying "Oh, no!" I can see you at it. The fact is, you're such an infernally good chap that something of this sort was bound to happen to you sooner or later. I think making you his heir was the only sensible thing old Nutcombe ever did. In his place I'd have done the same. 'But he didn't even seem decently grateful at the time. 'Probably not. He was a queer old bird.
The name struck Elizabeth as familiar. But he had gone on to identify himself before she could place it in her mind. 'Lawyer, don't you know. Wrote you a letter telling you that your Uncle Ira Nutcombe had left all his money to Lord Dawlish. 'Oh, yes, said Elizabeth, and was about to invite him to pass the barrier, when he began to speak again. 'You know, I want to explain that letter.
'Now look here, Bill, he said, 'this isn't the way we usually do this sort of thing, and if the governor were here he would spend an hour and a half rambling on about testators and beneficiary legatees, and parties of the first part, and all that sort of rot. But as he isn't here I want to know, as one pal to another, what you've been doing to an old buster of the name of Nutcombe. 'Nutcombe?
Miss Ramsbotham swept all such aside. It would be pleasant to have a bright young girl to live with her; teaching, moulding such an one would be a pleasant occupation. And thus it came to pass that Mr. Reginald Peters disappeared for a while from Bohemia, to the regret of but few, and there entered into it one Peggy Nutcombe, as pretty a child as ever gladdened the eye of man.
She loved bees, but she was not an expert on them. She had started her apiary with a small capital, a book of practical hints, and a second-hand queen, principally because she was in need of some occupation that would enable her to live in the country. It was the unfortunate condition of Claude Nutcombe which made life in the country a necessity.
It did not need the sight of him, gasping and gurgling before her, to tell her how overwhelming was his disappointment. It was useless to be angry with the deceased Mr Nutcombe. He was too shadowy a mark. Besides, he was dead. The whole current of her wrath turned upon the supplanter, this Lord Dawlish. She pictured him as a crafty adventurer, a wretched fortune-hunter.
And if old Nutcombe hadn't happened to slice his approach shots he would never have put him under an obligation. Queer old buster, old Nutcombe, leaving a fellow he hardly knew from Adam a cool million quid just because he cured him of slicing.
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