For he had intended to have the court decree a sale
of the property and divide the money under the sanction of the court.
But according to my plan Zoe could get no more; and therefore no one
could object to it.
I am curious about my father. What is the danger of a contest, even if
Zoe could be brought to make one? Mr. Brooks tells me that my father was
drinking heavily toward the last; that he looked aged and worn. His hair
had turned white, though he was only forty. He acted like a man who had
a corroding sorrow in his heart. When he took the cold it developed
rapidly into lung fever. He was dead in three days. His will was made
just as he took to his bed at the tavern. There were stray scamps about
Jacksonville who would swear to anything. And though Zoe was a colored
girl, and notwithstanding the character of such witnesses in her behalf,
a case so composed might be troublesome. Then there was the treasure at
stake; and the hunger of lawyers and maintainers. Well, I had settled
it. None of these wolves should have a chance. Mr. Brooks scrutinized my
face with large, pensive eyes. After a silence he said: "You are the
boss; but I want you to know that the will can stand. I will guarantee
to win the case if there is one." "Can we see the farm?" I asked. "And
my father's grave?" Mr. Brooks brought up his buggy and we were off.
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