The Aristocratic Miss Brewster by Joseph C. Lincoln

And now, once more, as at the time when her speculations in copper ended in disaster, Mary Brewster was facing a crisis. Then, when David Cummings had called in answer to her summons and she had announced her intention of finding work of some kind, she had described her position as desperate. If it was desperate then what was it now? Then she was pinched for money--yes; but she owed practically nothing. Now she owed much, for more and more bills contracted by the late Benjamin Brewster were arriving almost daily. Apparently he had had a constitutional aversion to paying cash for anything. The tailor in Ostable sent in a bill for an expensive suit and an overcoat. Gallup's store presented an account for cigars and table luxuries. Even Solomon Jaynes, who had planted the new privet hedge, and the row of Lombardy poplars which were to shut off the unsightly view toward the henhouse, had not been paid either for stock or labor. "Mr. Ben he told me he always liked to settle his bills first of every month," explained Solomon. "He didn't do it last month, but he was goin' to this."

Very likely he had intended doing so. Mary knew that he had been expecting a check. Now that he was dead that check would, of course, not be sent. Yet the bills were there awaiting it. All creditors, the local ones especially, were apologetic. They were in no great hurry for their money. It was perfectly safe, of course. "I don't never fret much about what a millionaire owes me," commented Jaynes, with a chuckle. "I only wish you owed me more, Miss Brewster."