"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. "Glad to know you, Keene," Mason said. "Shake hands with Paul Drake."

As Mason released his grip of Keene 's hand, Drake grabbed it. "Okay, Buddy," he said, "no hard feelings. It's all in the day's work."

The steady gray eyes surveyed the two men thoughtfully. The first diffidence gave place to a very evident determination.

"Let's find out if it's all right," he said. "I've got something to say about this. Winifred and I are engaged. She's going to marry me. If I could support her I'd marry her tomorrow, but I can't support her and I won't let her support me. I'm an architect, and you know it takes a while for a young architect to get started. You just don't begin making money right away. But the country needs architects today more than ever. With credit inflated and more and more young families and more and more babies, it's only a question of time before I'll be sitting pretty."

Mason surveyed the youthful enthusiasm of the young man's face and nodded.

Paul Drake said, "Yeah… a couple of years." He said it tonelessly.

"And don't think I'm waiting for business to pick up, either," Keene said. "I'm working in a service station, and darned glad to get the job. Today the big boss was through. He stopped at the service station without anyone knowing who he was. And when he left he gave me his card and a pat on the back for the way I was handling the trade."

"Good boy," Mason told him.

"I'm just telling you fellows this," Keene said, "so you'll know where I stand, because I'm going to find out where you stand."

Mason glanced over at Winifred Laxter. Her eyes were absorbed in Douglas Keene. Her face was flushed with pride.

Keene took a step backward, so that he was between both men and the door.

"Now then," he said, "I've put my cards on the table and you chaps are going to put yours on the table. Peter Laxter died. He didn't leave Winifred a cent. So far as I'm concerned, I'm glad he didn't. She doesn't need his money. She's better off now than she was when she was living with him.

"I'm going to support her. I don't want any of her grandfather's money and she doesn't need any of her grandfather's money, but I don't like the idea of you birds trying to slip something over on her."

Mason's hand dropped to the young man's shoulder. "We're not trying to slip anything over on her," he said.

"What are you hanging around here for, then?"

"I want to get information," Mason said, "so I can represent a client."

"Who's the client?"

Mason grinned. "Believe it or not, but the client's a cat."