"Certainly. It means about $50,000 to you at the end of the year, with
nothing to do but to notify two persons of the terms in the will. If
they're not divorced and married again at the end of the year, you and
Sir John simply turn everything over to the Malays or whatever they are.
It's something like 'dust to dust,' isn't it, after all? I think it's
easy sledding for you."

Mr. Bowen was eventually won over by Mr. Hare's enthusiasm.
"Notifications" took wing and flew to different parts of the world,
while many lawyers hovered like vultures to snatch at the bones should a
war at law ensue.

Young Mr. Browne (he was hardly a doctor even in name) hastened downtown
in response to a message from the American executor, and was told of the
will which had been filed in England, the home land of the testator. To
say that this debonair, good-looking young gentleman was flabbergasted
would be putting it more than mildly. There is no word in the English
language strong enough to describe his attitude at that perilous moment.

"What shall I do--what can I do, Mr. Bowen?" he gasped, bewildered.

"Consult an attorney," advised Mr. Bowen promptly.

"I'll do it," shouted "Bobby" Browne, one time halfback on his college
eleven. "Break the will for me, Mr. Bowen, and I'll give--"

"I can't break it, Bobby. I'm its executor."

"Good Lord! Well, then, who is the best will-breaker you know, please?