He said he liked the waffles and was going to advertise the place among his friends and send me a lot of customers."
Perry Mason started in once more on his waffle. "Yes," he said slowly, "he would."
Winifred Laxter rested her hands on the shelf supporting the battery of waffle irons. "I take it," she said, "I've been trimmed. Is that right?"
Mason looked searchingly into her eyes. Drake was the one who answered the question. He nodded and said, "In a big way."
Winifred leaned closer to them. "Okay. Now let me tell you something. I don't care. I knew Sam Laxter had sent that fellow in here, and had a pretty good idea he was a lawyer. I knew he was trying to get me to sign away something, and I knew he was doing that because he was afraid I could make trouble.
"Now, I don't know what you two are in here for, but probably you're trying to line me up so you can start a lawsuit, so let's come out in the open and understand each other. Then you can enjoy eating your waffles a lot more.
"Grandfather wasn't a fool. He knew what he was doing. He decided to leave his property to the two boys. That's swell. It suits me right down to the ground. We, all three of us, had been living with him for years. We'd grown accustomed to having him pay our bills. We didn't worry about money. We didn't care whether there was a depression, unemployment, or panic. Grandpa had his money, and he had it in cold cash. He dished it out to us generously.
"What was the result? We were out of touch with the world. We didn't know what was going on and we didn't care. We were young people who might just as well have been retired and living in an institution for the aged and infirm.
"I had a couple of boy friends who were rushing me to death. I couldn't decide which I liked the better. They were both perfectly swell. Sometimes I thought I liked one; sometimes I thought I liked the other. Then Grandfather died. I was disinherited. I had to get out and get to work. I picked up this business and began to learn about life. I've seen more people, made more contacts, had more fun living and working in this place than I ever had being the pampered pet of a rich granddad. And I'm finished with all of the petty jealousies and intrigue of the two grandsons who were afraid I was going to get all of the property. One of my boy friends decidedly lost interest in me as soon as he found out I wasn't going to have a million dollars or so in my own name. The other one is tickled to death because he wants to support me.
"Now then, figure that out, and see if you think I'm going to walk into court, drag out a lot of dirt about Grandpa and the other two grandchildren, and either wake up with a headache or with a slice of property that I don't want."
Perry Mason slid his coffee cup across the counter.
"Give me another cup of coffee, Winnie, and I'll send all of my friends in here."
Her flashing eyes stared steadily into the lawyer's for a moment; then, recognizing a kindred spirit, she broke into a light laughter and said, "I'm glad you understand. I was afraid you wouldn't."
Paul Drake cleared his throat. "Look here, Miss Laxter, it's all right for you to feel that way, but don't forget you may not always feel that way. Money is hard to get. You've been tricked into signing something we could set aside…"
Winifred handed Perry Mason a full coffee cup, and said to him significantly, "Tell your boy friend what it's all about, will you?"
Mason interrupted Paul Drake by placing a hand on Paul's arm, digging in with his powerful fingers. "Paul, you don't get the sketch. You're too damned commercial. Why not forget about money and laugh at life? It isn't the future that counts; it's the present. It isn't what you save; it's what you make, and the way you make it."
Winifred nodded. The detective shrugged his shoulders, and said, "It's your funeral."
Perry Mason finished his waffle, eating slowly and appreciatively. "You're going to make a success," he said, as he pushed back his empty plate.
"I've already made a success; I'm finding myself. The bill is eighty cents."
Mason handed her a dollar bill. "Put the change under the plate, if you will, please," he said, grinning. "How did you and Ashton get along?"
"Ashton's a great old crab," she laughed, manipulating the cash register.
Mason remarked with studied carelessness, "Too bad he's going to lose his cat."
Winifred paused, the change drawer open, her hand held poised over it. "What do you mean, he's going to lose his cat?"
"Sam won't let him keep the cat."
"But he has to under the will. He has to keep Ashton employed as a caretaker."
"But not the cat."
Dismay showed on Winifred's face. "Do you mean to say he isn't going to let Ashton keep Clinker?"
"That's it."
"But he can't put Clinker out."
"He says he's going to poison him."
Mason nudged Drake surreptitiously, started toward the door.
"Wait a minute," she called. "We've got to do something about that. He can't get by with that. Why, that's outrageous!"
"We'll see what we can do," Mason promised.
"But look here. You must do something. Perhaps I can do something. Where can I reach you?"
Perry Mason gave her one of his cards, and said, "I'm Ashton's lawyer. If you think of anything that will help, let me know. And don't sign any more papers."
The door from the street opened. A young man of medium build smiled at Winifred Laxter, then regarded Perry Mason with a level, appraising stare, shifted his eyes to Paul Drake and suddenly became hostile.
He was a head shorter than the tall detective, but he pushed up in front of him belligerently, stared at him steadily with gray eyes that didn't so much as flicker. "Say," he demanded, "what's your game?"
Drake remarked casually, "Just eating waffles, Buddy. Don't quarrel with the cash customers."
"He's all right, Doug," Winifred said.
"How do you know he's all right?" the young man resorted, without taking his eyes from Paul Drake. "He hunted me up this afternoon with a stall about going into the contracting business and wanting to have someone who knew architecture work with him. I hadn't talked with him five minutes before I found out he didn't know a single thing about contracting. I think he's a detective."
Drake, smiling, said, "You're a better detective than I am a contractor. You've guessed right. So what?"
The young man turned to Winifred. "Shall I throw him out, Winnie?" he asked.
She laughed. "It's all right, Doug. Shake hands with Perry Mason, a lawyer. You've heard of him. This is Douglas Keene, Mr. Mason."
The young man's expression changed. "Perry Mason," he said. "Oh…"
Mason's hand found Keene 's right hand and pumped it up and down.