Luck and Pluck

"No, sir; but when my father was alive he gave me an allowance of a dollar a week pocket-money. I had saved up thirty dollars, thinking I might some time want to make a large purchase,—a row-boat, or something of that kind. When I came away with Mr. Huxter, I thought I had better bring it with me."

"It is lucky you did so. You may have occasion to use it. Does Mr. Huxter know you have this money?"

"He knows I have some money," said John, "but probably does not suspect how much."

"I advise you to take care of it then. Such a man is not to be trusted. If he claims the power of controlling you, he may demand this money."

"I don't think he will get it," said John, resolutely.

"I hope not. You were always a quiet boy; but I have observed that you were not deficient in firmness."

"I hope you don't think me obstinate, Squire Selwyn," said John, smiling.

"No, I don't think you that."

"If I find myself in the wrong I am always ready to confess it and give up."

"That's right, my lad. It's a thing that some of us who are much older than you find it hard to do. By the way, I suppose you wonder how I happen to be here so opportunely for you."

"I have been wondering all the time, but did not like to ask."

"One of my clients placed some business in my hands relating to property which required me to consult the county records of this county."

"You didn't come through by the stage?"

"No, I thought it too long and tedious. So I came by a roundabout way which left me only twenty miles' staging. I travelled a greater number of miles than you, but in considerably less time. Now, John, is there anything more I can do for you before I set about the particular business which called me here?"

"No, sir, thank you. At least I think of nothing."

"One thing at least let me say. We don't know how this affair is coming out. Your stepmother may prove wholly unmanageable, especially as the power is in her hands, as things are at present situated. Should there come a time when you have need of further money, let me know frankly, and I will see what I can do for you."

"You are very kind indeed, sir," said John, earnestly.

"I certainly ought to be. When I came to Hampton, a young lawyer and without acquaintances, your father took me by the hand, and placed his business in my hands, and influenced others to do the same. So I consider that he laid the foundation of my present prosperity, and therefore I shall not desert his son while he is in trouble."

"Thank you, Squire Selwyn," said John. "I did not know what you just told me; but I did know that my father looked upon you as one of his most valued friends."

"Well, John, good-by," said the lawyer, kindly, extending his hand. "Keep up a good heart, and something may turn up which may set matters right. Be sure to keep me apprised of your movements, and rely upon me to do what I can for you in Hampton."

John left the court-house much encouraged by the friendly words of Squire Selwyn. He felt that he would prove a powerful friend, and his burden of care was diminished now that he had communicated his situation to such a friend.

Just then David Wallace drove up to the gate in his wagon.

"Have you got through your talk?" he asked.

"Just finished."

"Jump aboard then, and we'll be getting home."

"I've been pretty lucky to-day, David," said John.

"How's that?"

"In the first place, in finding my letter by the side of the road. But for that I should have thought it had gone straight. Next in meeting you, and being saved a hot walk; and again in just meeting the very man I wanted most to see."

"There's one thing you forgot," said David, roguishly.

"What's that?"

"The affectionate welcome you'll get from old Huxter when you reach home."

"I don't count much on that," said John, smiling in return.

"I'm glad you've overreached the old fellow," said David.

"He thinks he's overreached me."

"I know it. That makes it all the better."

John reached his temporary home about four o'clock. Mr. Huxter was not at home when he arrived, and remained ignorant of the important interview which had taken place between John and Squire Selwyn.

CHAPTER XIX.

ON THE TRACK

When the stage which conveyed John and Mr. Huxter was fairly out of sight Mrs. Oakley entered the house with a great feeling of relief. She realized for the first time how she had been constrained by the presence of her stepson. Though he had always been respectful, there was an unuttered reproach in his frank, fearless glance, which made her uncomfortable. It was the tribute which a mean and wicked nature pays to one of greater nobility, though Mrs. Oakley did not acknowledge that. She only felt glad that John was out of the way.

She had been so fearful that something might happen to prevent the success of her plan, that she had been careful not to make Ben acquainted with it. She was apprehensive that Ben would, in his exultation, lead John to suspect what was going on, and so cause him to refuse going. Now that he was fairly off she would tell her son the good news.

Ben came down to breakfast late. He generally had his way now, and was seldom present at the regular breakfast hour. It was different when Squire Oakley was alive; but then many other things were different also.

"Benjamin is delicate," she said, one morning in presence of the servant. "He needs more sleep than the rest of us."

"Maybe it's smoking cigars makes him delicate," suggested the servant, who did not particularly admire Ben, or care to join his mother in making allowances for him.

Her mistress silenced her with some asperity; but nevertheless took an opportunity to speak to Ben on the subject. But that young gentleman only laughed at her remonstrances.

"It does me good, mother," he said. "I always feel better after smoking a good cigar."

"It seems to me you are growing pale," said Mrs. Oakley, whose heart was full of tenderness where Ben was concerned.

"That's all nonsense," said Ben. "I'm not as red as a beet, and I don't want to be. But as to being pale, I'm healthy enough. Don't worry yourself."

With this Mrs. Oakley had to be contented, for Ben, though a coward with his equals, had sense enough to take advantage of his mother's weak partiality, and take his own way.

When Ben came down to breakfast on the morning of his uncle's departure, he said in an indifferent tone:—

"Has that man gone?"

"Do you refer to your uncle, Benjamin?" asked Mrs. Oakley, not altogether pleased to hear Mr. Huxter spoken of in that style, though she felt no very warm attachment for him herself.

"I mean Mr. Huxter," said Ben, carelessly, breaking an egg as he spoke.

"He is your uncle."

"I don't mean to call him so. I'm ashamed of the relationship."

"He is my brother."

"That's your misfortune," said Ben. "All I know is, that I hope he won't darken our doors again."

"What have you against him?"

"He's a coarse, low man. He isn't a gentleman. You're a rich woman now, mother. You'd better cut his acquaintance. He won't do us any credit. You haven't invited him to come again, I hope."

"I don't think he will come again very soon."

"He'd better not. How can you expect people to forget that you were the late Mr. Oakley's house-keeper if you show them such a man as that as your brother?"

This argument had weight with Mrs. Oakley. She wanted to be looked upon as a lady, and she acknowledged to herself that Mr. Huxter's relationship would be no credit to her. He was coarse and low, as Ben said,—not because he was poor. Wealth would have made no difference in him, except that it might have enabled him to dress better. It would not have diminished the redness of his nose, for instance, or refined his manners. Mrs. Oakley, however, made no comment on what Ben had said, but remarked:—

"At any rate, Ben, your uncle has done us a good turn."

"What is that, mother?" asked Ben.

"John has gone with him."

"Gone home with him?"

"Yes."

"How long is he going to stay?"

"For good."

"How's that? I don't understand."

"John was in the way here. You and he could not agree,—not that I blame you for that,—and I did not like him. Therefore I made an arrangement with my brother to have John board with him. I don't suppose you'll miss him much."

"It'll be a lucky miss," said Ben, emphatically. "But John's rather stubborn. How did you get him to go?"

"He doesn't know he is to stay. I told him I wanted him to go back with your uncle, in order to attend to a little business for me. When he gets there he'll find out what it is."

"Won't he rave, though?" exclaimed Ben, laughing heartily. "He'll find it a healthy old boarding-house."

"I wish you wouldn't use such language, Ben," said his mother. "It is my great ambition to see you act and talk like a gentleman."

"So I do, mother. That's just the way they talk."

Mrs. Oakley looked rather incredulous.

"I say, mother, is Uncle Huxter going to prepare John for college?"

Mrs. Oakley laughed—heartily for her.

"Your uncle's shoe-shop will be the only college John will enter," she said.

"Do you mean that he is to peg shoes?"

"Yes."

"His pride will have a pretty hard fall."

"I mean that it shall," said Mrs. Oakley, compressing her thin lips.

"Well, I don't envy John. Every dog has his day, and he has had his. It's our turn now. Another cup of coffee, and not so weak as the last."

"I don't think such strong coffee is good for you, Benjamin."

"Oh bother, don't be a granny," said Ben, rudely. "Anybody'd think I was a baby."

This was the way in which Ben addressed his mother, who deserved his gratitude at least, for she was to him a devoted and self-sacrificing mother, however faulty might be her conduct towards John.

At length Ben's late breakfast was over, and he left the house to resort to his accustomed haunt,—the hotel bar-room and billiard saloon.

"I wish Ben cared more about study, and was more ambitious," thought Mrs. Oakley, with a half sigh. "If I could only make him feel as I do!"

It would have been fortunate for Ben if he had inherited his mother's energy and ambition. The ambition was not a noble one; but at least it would have kept him from low haunts and bad associates, which were all he cared about at present. Though all his mother's worldly plans should succeed, this was the point in which they were likely to fail. Mrs. Oakley's punishment would come in all probability through the son for whom she was willing to sacrifice justice and duty.

When Ben had left the house, Mrs. Oakley began to concentrate her thoughts upon that which had first led her to determine upon John's banishment. This was the hidden will. She could not feel assured of her position until that was found. Until now she had not felt at full liberty to search. She had feared that John might come upon her unexpectedly, and divine her object. Now there was no fear of interruption. She could ransack the house from top to bottom, and no one would understand the motive of her search. She had not communicated her intention to Ben. She trusted in his discretion too little to confide to him any secret of importance, for she was a shrewd and prudent woman.

On this particular morning she had a feeling that she had never had before. There was a confidence that she had never before experienced that success awaited her.

"I must and will find it," she thought. "This is not a large house. Then there are some parts of it that need not be searched. Mr. Oakley would never have hidden his will in the servants' rooms, nor in the kitchen. Everywhere else I will search. Let me go to work systematically and thoroughly. This time it shall not be my fault if it escapes me."

There was a small room on the lower floor, where the late Mr. Oakley used to do the most of his writing. This has already been referred to. Here he kept a desk, and this desk more than once had been searched by Mrs. Oakley. She determined to search it once more, but only for form's sake.

"He did not mean that I should find it," she thought. "Therefore he did not conceal it where I should be certain to look first."

So, though she searched the desk, she was not disappointed when this search, like the preceding, resulted in bringing nothing to light.

"It is as I thought," she said. "Where shall I search next?"

She selected her own bedchamber, though here, for obvious reasons, she had little hopes of finding the missing document.

"He wouldn't place it under my very eyes," she said. "Of course I know that. Still I cannot afford to leave a single place unexplored."

The result justified her anticipations. So room after room was searched, and no clue was obtained.

"He wouldn't put it under the carpet," she thought.

Yet the thought seemed worth following up. She got down on her hands and knees, and felt of every square foot of carpeting in the several rooms to see if she could detect beneath the pressure of any paper. In one place there was a rustle, and she eagerly tore up the carpet. But nothing was revealed save a loose piece of newspaper, which by some chance had got underneath. Disappointed, she nailed down the carpet again.

Where else should she look? All at once a luminous idea came to her.

John's room,—his old room, of course! Why had she never thought of that? John, of course, was the one who would be most benefited by the new will. If by any chance it should be discovered by him, no harm would result. His father would trust John, when he would not have trusted her or Ben. Mrs. Oakley could not help acknowledging to herself that in that he was right. What strengthened her in this view was, that among the articles of furniture was an old desk which had belonged to Squire Oakley's father. It was battered and defaced by hard usage, and had been at one time banished to the attic. But John, who was accustomed to study in his room, felt that this old desk would be of use to him, and he had asked to have it transferred to his own chamber. There had been no objection to this, and the transfer took place about a year before Squire Oakley's death. It had stood in John's room ever since.

When the new idea came to Mrs. Oakley, she thought at once of this old desk as the probable repository of the will. Her eyes sparkled with anticipated triumph.

"I was a fool not to think of this before," she said. "If the will is anywhere in the house, it is in John's room, and in that old desk. At last I am on the right track!"

With a hurried step she entered John's room. Her hands trembled with nervous agitation. She felt that she was on the brink of an important discovery.

CHAPTER XX.

MRS. OAKLEY FINDS THE WILL

Mrs. Oakley commenced her examination of the old desk, thoroughly convinced that if the missing will were in existence at all, it was hidden there.

It was one of those old desks and bureaus combined, which were so common in the days of our grandfathers. In the drawers beneath, John had been accustomed to keep his clothing; in the desk above, writing materials, and some small articles of no particular importance. These he had not had time to remove before his unexpected departure.

Mrs. Oakley turned those over impatiently, and explored every drawer hurriedly. But she did not discover what she had expected to find. This first failure, however, did not surprise her. She did not expect to find the will lying loosely in any of the drawers. But she suspected that some one drawer might have a false bottom, beneath which the important document would prove to be concealed. She therefore carefully examined every drawer with a view to the discovery of such a place of concealment. But to her disappointment she obtained no clue. The drawers seemed honestly made. For the first time Mrs. Oakley began to doubt whether the will were really in existence. She had searched everywhere, and it could not be found.

"I wish I could be sure," she said to herself. "I would give five hundred dollars this minute to be sure that there was no will. Then I should feel secure in the possession of my money. But to feel that at any moment a paper may turn up depriving me of forty thousand dollars keeps me in constant anxiety."

She gave up the search for the day, having domestic duties to attend to. She tried to persuade herself that her fears and anxieties were without foundation, but in this she was unsuccessful. She permitted a day to slip by, but on the second day she again visited John's room. The old desk seemed to have a fascination for her.

This time she turned the desk around, and passed her hand slowly over the back. Just when she was about to relinquish the attempt in despair, success came.

Suddenly beneath her finger a concealed spring was unconsciously touched, and a thin drawer sprang from the recesses of the desk. Mrs. Oakley's eyes sparkled with the sense of approaching triumph, as she perceived carefully laid away therein a paper compactly folded.

With fingers trembling with nervous agitation she opened it. She had not been deceived. The missing will lay outspread before her! Mrs. Oakley read it carefully.

It was drawn up with the usual formalities, as might have been expected, being the work of a careful lawyer. It revoked all other wills of a previous date, and bequeathed in express terms two-thirds of the entire estate left by the testator to his only son, John. Squire Selwyn was appointed executor, and guardian of said John, should he be under age at the time of his father's death. The remaining third of the property was willed to Mrs. Jane Oakley, should she survive her husband; otherwise to her son Benjamin in the event of his mother's previous death.

Such was the substance of Squire Oakley's last will and testament, now for the first time revealed.

Mrs. Oakley read it with mingled feelings,—partly of indignation with her late husband that he should have made such a will, partly of joy that no one save herself knew of its existence. She held in her hand a document which in John Oakley's hands would be worth forty thousand dollars if she permitted him to obtain it. But she had no such intention. What should be done with it?

Should she lock it up carefully where it would not be likely to be found? There would be danger of discovery at any moment.

"It must be destroyed," she said to herself, resolutely. "There is no other way. A single match will make me secure in the possession of the estate."

Mrs. Oakley knew that it was a criminal act which she had in view; but the chance of detection seemed to be slight. In fact, since no one knew that such a will was in existence, though some might suspect it, there seemed to be no danger at all.

"Yes, it shall be destroyed and at once. There can be no reason for delay," she said firmly.

She crossed the entry into her own chamber, first closing the secret drawer, and moving the old desk back to its accustomed place. There was a candle on the mantel-piece, which she generally lighted at night. She struck a match, and lighted it now. This done, she approached the will to the flame, and the corner of the document so important to John Oakley caught fire, and the insidious flame began to spread. Mrs. Oakley watched it with exulting eyes, when a sudden step was heard at the door of her chamber, and, turning, she saw Hannah, the servant-girl, standing on the threshold, looking in.

Mrs. Oakley half rose, withdrawing the will from the candle, and demanded harshly:—

"What brought you here?"

"Shall I go out to the garden and get some vegetables for dinner?" asked Hannah.

"Of course you may. You needn't have come up here to ask," said her mistress, with irritation.

"I didn't know whether you would want any," said Hannah, defending herself. "There was some cold vegetables left from yesterday's dinner. I thought maybe you'd have them warmed over."

"Well, if there are enough left you may warm them. I'll come down just as soon as I can. I have been looking over some old papers of my husband's," she explained, rather awkwardly, perceiving that Hannah's eyes were bent curiously upon the will and the candle, "and burning such as were of no value. Do you know what time it is?"

"Most eleven, by the kitchen clock," said Hannah.

"Then you had better go down, and hurry about dinner."

"I can take down the old papers, and put them in the kitchen stove," suggested Hannah.

"It's of no consequence," said Mrs. Oakley, hastily. "I will attend to that myself."

"Mrs. Oakley seems queer this morning," thought Hannah, as she turned and descended the stairs to her professional duties in the kitchen. "I wonder what made her jump so when I came in, and what that paper is that she was burning up in the candle."

Hannah had never heard of the will, and was unacquainted with legal technicalities, and therefore her suspicions were not excited. She only wondered what made Mrs. Oakley seem so queer.

When she went out Mrs. Oakley sat in doubt.

"Hannah came in at a most unlucky moment," she said to herself, with vexation. "Could she have suspected anything? If she should breathe a word of this, and it should get to that lawyer's ears, I might get into trouble."

Mrs. Oakley held the will in her hand irresolutely. Should she follow out her first intention, and burn it? A feeling of apprehension as to the possible consequences of her act prevented her. The flame had gone out, leaving the corner scorched, and slightly burned; but apart from this the will was uninjured.

After a pause of deliberation, Mrs. Oakley blew out the candle, and, taking the will, opened the upper drawer of her bureau, and deposited it carefully inside. She locked it securely, and, putting the key in her pocket, went downstairs.

Before doing so, however, she went to the closet in which she kept her wardrobe, and, selecting a handsome silk cape, took it down with her.

"Hannah," she said, "here's a cape I shall not use again. It doesn't fit me exactly. If you would like it, it is yours."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the astonished Hannah, for this was the first present she had ever received from her mistress; "you're very kind indeed. It is an elegant cape."

"Yes, it is a nice one. I am glad you like it."

"The mistress must be crazy," thought the bewildered Hannah. "I never knew her to do such a thing before, and I've lived here three years come October."

CHAPTER XXI.

SQUIRE SELWYN'S CALL

Mrs. Oakley's door-bell rang, and Hannah answered the summons.

"Is Mrs. Oakley at home?" inquired Squire Selwyn, for it was he.

"Yes, sir. Will you walk in?"

"I think I will. Let her know that I wish to see her, if you please."

Hannah did as directed.

"Squire Selwyn?" asked Mrs. Oakley. "Where is he?"

"In the parlor."

"Very well. I will go in at once."

"Has he found out anything about John, I wonder?" thought Mrs. Oakley.

"Good-morning, sir," she said, as she entered the lawyer's presence.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Oakley."

"Is your family well?"

"Quite well. My son tells me that John has been absent from school for two or three days past."

"Yes."

"He is not sick, I suppose?"

"No."

"You will excuse my questions; but his father and myself were very intimate friends. Is he at home?"

"No, he is not."

"I suppose you have no objection to telling me where he is?"

"Suppose I have?" said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.

"Then I should think it very strange."

"You are at liberty to think it very strange," said Mrs. Oakley, composedly.

"Why should you object to telling me that he went away with your brother, Mr. Huxter, and is now at his house?"

Mrs. Oakley started in surprise. The lawyer was better informed than she supposed.

"If you knew," she answered, after a slight pause, "why need you inquire?"

"I wished to know whether you had sent him away, intending to keep his destination a secret."

"I suppose he has written to you."

"He did write to me; but the letter was suppressed by your brother. May I inquire whether this was by your wish?"

"What you tell me is news to me," said Mrs. Oakley; "but I have no hesitation in saying that my brother understands my wishes, and will carry them out."

"I am answered," said the lawyer. "Is it your intention to permit John to continue his studies preparatory for college?"