Seven years later, by the time he was seventeen, he had recorded over nine
thousand different recipes, all of them original, all of them delicious.
But now, suddenly, his labours were interrupted by the tragic death of Aunt
Glosspan. She was afflicted in the night by a violent seizure, and Lexington,
in an effort to cool her down, fetched a bucket of water from the pond in
the cow field and tipped it over her head, but this only intensified the
paroxysms, and the old lady expired within the hour.
After weeping bitterly for several minutes, for he had loved his aunt very much, he pulled himself together and carried her outside and buried her behind the cowshed.
The next day while tidying up her belongings, he came across an envelope that was addressed to him in aunt Glosspan’s handwriting. “Ask the doctor to give you a certificate to prove that I am dead. Then take this certificate to my lawyer, a man called Mr Zuckermann, who lives in New York City and who has a copy of my will. Mr. Zuckermann will arrange everything.”
After weeping bitterly for several minutes, for he had loved his aunt very much, he pulled himself together and carried her outside and buried her behind the cowshed.
The next day while tidying up her belongings, he came across an envelope that was addressed to him in aunt Glosspan’s handwriting. “Ask the doctor to give you a certificate to prove that I am dead. Then take this certificate to my lawyer, a man called Mr Zuckermann, who lives in New York City and who has a copy of my will. Mr. Zuckermann will arrange everything.”