Herbert Carter's Legacy; Or, the Inventor's Son

“Well,” said Cornelius, flattered by the belief in his influence which this inquiry implied, “perhaps I might. You can give me your name and address, so I can write to you if I hear of anything. If the old man only leaves me a few thousand dollars, I’ll go into business for myself, and then I’d have an opening for you.”

“I hope he will, then.”

“So do I. That is where we both agree. But perhaps it will be you that will get the cash.”

“I don’t think so.”

“If you do, put it into my hands, and go into partnership with me. I’ve got business experience, you know; while you’re green, countrified, you know. It would never do for you to start alone.”

“No, I shouldn’t think of it.”

“Then it’s agreed, is it?” said Cornelius. “If I get a legacy, I’ll take you into my store. If you get it, you will go into partnership with me.”

“I’m willing,” said Herbert, who really believed that his companion had as valuable business qualifications as he claimed. How was he to know that the pretentious Cornelius was only a salesman, at twelve dollars a week, in a dry-goods store on Eighth Avenue?

By this time they had reached the rather dingy-looking house of their deceased relative. The front door was open. They passed through the gate, and, entering, took their places with the mourners.

CHAPTER IV

READING THE WILL

Apparently the deceased had but few relatives. But six persons were in a small room appropriated to the mourners when our hero and his new acquaintance entered. One of these, and far the most imposing in appearance, was a stout lady, who quite filled up the only armchair in the room. In a plain chair close by was a meek little man, three inches shorter, and probably not more than half her weight. A boy and girl, the children of the ill-matched pair, the former resembling the father, the latter the mother, were ranged alongside. Permit me to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Pinkerton, of Castleton, an adjoining town. Master Albert and Miss Nancy Pinkerton.

Mrs. Pinkerton is a milliner, and her husband is her clerk and errand boy. She has considerable business capacity, and makes enough to support the family comfortably, besides adding something annually to the fund in the savings bank. The relationship to the deceased is on the side of the husband, who is a cousin. This relationship has given rise to great expectations on the part of Mrs. Pinkerton, who fully expects to inherit half the estate of Mr. Carter.

“If we get it, Josiah,” she has promised magnificently, “I’ll buy you a new suit of clothes.”

“But, Maria,” expostulated the meek husband, “it will be left to me, not to you.”

“Why so?” demanded she, frowning.

“Because he is my cousin, not yours.”

“You indeed!” retorted the wife, angrily; “and what do you know about the use of money? Who supports the family, I should like to know?”

“I help,” answered Josiah, meekly.

“And precious little you help,” returned his wife, sarcastically. “So far as you are concerned, we should all be in the poor house long before this. No, Josiah, the money must come into my hands. I’ll give you a good allowance, and hire an errand boy so that you needn’t have to carry round bundles. You ought to be contented with that.”

As no legacy had yet been received, Mr. Pinkerton thought it best not to continue the discussion. Indeed, he was rather afraid of his imperious wife, who held the reins of authority, and whom he did not dare to dispute.

The two other relations were, first, a brown-faced and brown-handed farmer, Alonzo Granger, and an old lady, of seventy or thereabouts—Miss Nancy Carter, a sister of the deceased. For years she had lived on a small pension from her brother, increased somewhat by knitting stockings for the neighbors. She, indeed, was the only real mourner. The rest were speculating about how far they were likely to be benefited by the death of the deceased, of whom they had seen but little in life. Even Herbert, though impressed by the presence of death, could hardly be expected to feel deep grief for a man who had neglected his mother in his life.

Of the funeral rites it is unnecessary to speak. We are interested in what came afterwards.

The relations were quietly notified to meet at five o’clock in the office of Mr. Spencer, the lawyer, to whom had been intrusted the will of the late Mr. Carter. Those who have even a slight knowledge of human nature will not need to be told that the attendance of all was punctual. There was an anxious, expectant look on the faces of all—not even excepting the old lady. She knew that if her brother had made no provision for her, she must go to the alms-house, and against this her honest pride revolted. She was willing to live on anything, however little, if she might live independently, as she had hitherto done. To feel herself dependent on public charity would indeed have been a hard trial for the poor old lady. Of all, probably Mrs. Pinkerton was the most confident. She had come to feel that her family was entitled to a large share of the estate, and she had gone so far as to decide just how she would invest it, and what new arrangements she would make, for she had no idea of consulting her husband on the subject.

The lawyer was a gentlemanly-looking man, whose face inspired confidence in his integrity—a remark which, unhappily, cannot be made of all in his profession. He took his seat at a table, and produced the will, which he considerately commenced reading at once. After the usual introduction, the will proceeded thus:

“To my sister Nancy I give the use of my house, rent free, as long as she shall live. I leave her also an income of two hundred dollars a year, which, as her wants are small, will be sufficient to maintain her in comfort.”

The old lady breathed a sigh of relief. Her fears were removed. She could continue to live as she had been accustomed to do, and need not be beholden to private or public charity. Mrs. Pinkerton was not so well pleased. She felt almost as if she had been deprived of what belonged to her by right. She frowned at Miss Nancy, but the old lady was unconscious of the displeasure excited in the bosom of her imposing-looking relative.

The lawyer proceeded: “To my cousin, Alonzo Granger, I leave one hundred dollars; not because he needs it, for I understand that he is well-to-do, but as a mark of remembrance.”

The farmer scowled slightly, and opened and closed his brown hands in dissatisfaction. He was well-to-do; but when was a man ever satisfied with that? He had counted upon a few thousands, with which he proposed to buy an adjoining farm. Mrs. Pinkerton, however, was pleased. There was so much the more for her.

“To Cornelius Dixon”—here Herbert’s morning acquaintance began to feel excited—“I bequeath one hundred dollars, to buy a looking-glass and a new suit of clothes.”

The young man’s face lengthened very perceptibly as he heard the small amount of his legacy, and he glared savagely at Mrs. Pinkerton, who showed a mirthful face at his discomfiture.

Her turn came next.

“To Josiah Pinkerton, his wife and children, I leave one hundred dollars apiece; also my best black pantaloons, which he or his wife may appropriate, as may be arranged between them.”

All except the Pinkertons laughed at this sly hit, and even the lawyer smiled; but the stout lady flushed with rage and disappointment, and ejaculated: “Abominable!” The eyes of all were now directed to Herbert, who was the only one remaining. Could it be possible that the balance of the property was left to him? The fear of this made him the focus of unfriendly eyes, and he became restive and anxious.

“To my namesake, Herbert Carter, I leave a black trunk which I keep in my room, with all that it contains. To his mother I direct that the sum of one hundred dollars be paid.”

This was not much, but it was more than Herbert had expected. He knew how welcome even one hundred dollars would be to his mother, and he looked satisfied—the only one of the party, except the old lady, who showed any pleasure at the contents of the will.

The relatives looked bewildered. All had been mentioned in turn, and yet but a small part—a very small part—of the estate had been disposed of. Mrs. Pinkerton bluntly expressed the general curiosity.

“Who’s to have the rest, Mr. Spencer?” she demanded.

“I’m coming to that,” answered the lawyer, quietly.

“All the rest and residue of my property, of whatever kind, I leave to the town of Randolph, to establish a high school, directing that not more than twenty thousand dollars be expended upon the building, which shall be of brick. I desire that the school shall be known as the Carter School, to the end that my name may be remembered in connection with what I hope will prove a public blessing.” “That is all,” said the lawyer, and he laid down the will upon the table.

CHAPTER V

WHAT CAME AFTERWARD

There was silence for a minute after the will was read. Mrs. Pinkerton fanned herself furiously, and looked angry and excited.

At length she said: “I wish to say that that is a very unjust will, Mr. Spencer.”

“I am not responsible for it, Mrs. Pinkerton,” answered the lawyer, quietly.

“I don’t know what the rest of you think,” said the angry lady, with a general glance around the office, “but I think the will ought to be broken.”

“On what grounds?” asked Mr. Spencer.

“He had no right to put off his own flesh and blood with a beggarly pittance, and leave all his money to the town.”

“Pardon me; whatever you may think of Mr. Carter’s will, there is no doubt that he had a perfect legal right to dispose of it as he did.”

“Then the laws ought to be altered,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, angrily. “I don’t believe he was sane when he made the will.”

“If you can prove that,” said the lawyer, “you can set aside the will; but not otherwise.”

“My brother was in his right mind,” here interposed Miss Nancy. “He always meant to give the town money for a school.”

“No doubt you think he was sane,” sneered Mrs. Pinkerton, turning upon the old lady. “You have fared better than any of us.”

“Miss Nancy was most nearly related to the deceased,” said the lawyer, “and she needed help most.”

“It’s all very well to talk,” said the lady, tossing her head, “but me and mine have been badly used. I have hard work enough to support the family, and little help I get from him,” she added, pointing to her unhappy husband.

“I’m workin’ all the time,” remonstrated Josiah. “You are unkind, Maria.”

“I could hire a boy to do all your work for three dollars a week,” she retorted. “That’s all you help me. I’ve worried along for years, expectin’ Mr. Carter would do something handsome for us; and now he’s put us off with four hundred dollars.”

“I get only one hundred,” said the farmer.

“And I, too. It’s a beastly shame,” remarked Cornelius.

“Really,” said the lawyer, “it appears to me unseemly to speak so bitterly so soon after the funeral.”

“I dare say you like it well enough,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, sharply. “You’ve got all our money to build a schoolhouse.”

“It will not benefit me any more than the townspeople generally,” said the lawyer. “For my part, I should have been glad if my late friend had left a larger sum to those connected with him by blood.”

“Don’t you think we could break the will?” asked Mrs. Pinkerton, persuasively. “Couldn’t you help us?”

“You can attempt it, but I assure you in advance you haven’t the ghost of a chance. You would only lose your money, for the town would strenuously oppose you.”

The stout lady’s face fell. She felt that the last hope was gone.

“All I can say is, that it’s a scandalous thing,” she concluded, bitterly.

“I should like to know what’s in that trunk he left you,” said Cornelius Dixon, turning to Herbert. “Maybe it’s money or bonds. If it is, don’t forget our agreement.”

This drew attention to Herbert.

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, whose curiosity was aroused, “Mr. Dixon may be right. Suppose we all go over to the house and open it.”

Herbert looked irresolutely toward the lawyer.

“There is no objection, I suppose,” said Mr. Spencer.

“I know what’s in the trunk,” said Miss Nancy.

Straightway all eyes were turned upon her.

“What is it?”

“It’s clothes. My brother used to keep his clothes in that trunk.”

Cornelius Dixon burst into a rude laugh.

“I say, Herbert, I congratulate you,” he said, with a chuckle. “The old fellow’s left you his wardrobe. You’ll look like a peacock when you put ‘em on. If you ever come to New York to see me, leave ‘em at home. I wouldn’t like to walk up Broadway with such a gawk as you’d look.”

“Young man,” said Miss Nancy, her voice tremulous, “it don’t look well in you to ridicule my poor departed brother. He didn’t forget you.”

“He might as well,” muttered Cornelius.

“I hope you won’t laugh at my brother’s gift,” said the old lady, turning to Herbert.

“No, ma’am,” said Herbert, respectfully. “I am glad to get it. I can’t afford to buy new clothes often, and they can be made over for me.”

“You wouldn’t catch me wearing such old-fashioned duds,” said Cornelius, scornfully.

“No one asked you to, young man,” said the old lady, disturbed at the manner in which her brother was spoken of. “The boy’s worth a dozen of you.”

“Thank you,” said Cornelius, bowing with mock respect. “I should like to ask,” he continued, turning to the lawyer, “when I can get my legacy. It isn’t much, but I might as well take it.”

“As the amount is small, I will send you a check next week,” said Mr. Spencer, “if you will leave me your address.”

“And can I have my money, too?” demanded Mrs. Pinkerton. “It’s a miserable pittance, but I owe it to my poor children to take it.”

“I will send your husband a check also, next week, madam.”

“You needn’t send it to him. You may send it to me,” said the lady.

“Part of it is mine,” expostulated the husband, in meek deprecation.

“I can give you your part,” said his wife. “Mr. Spencer, you may make the check payable to me.”

“But, Maria–”

“Be silent, Josiah! Don’t make a fool of yourself,” said his wife, in an imperious tone.

The poor man was fain to be silent, but the lawyer was indignant, and said: “Mr. Pinkerton, I will certainly not pay your legacy, nor your children’s, to anyone but yourself. I will send Mrs. Pinkerton a check for her own share—one hundred dollars—since she desires it.”

“I insist upon your sending me the children’s money also,” said the lady angrily. “He ain’t fit to take charge of it.”

“You may insist as much as you like, Mrs. Pinkerton,” said the lawyer, coolly, “but it will be useless. As the head of the family, I shall send the money designed for the children to your husband.”

“Do you call him the head of the family?” demanded the angry Maria. “I would have you to know, sir, that I am the head of the family.”

“The law does not recognize you as such. As to the pantaloons, which form a part of the legacy, I will forward them to you, if you wish.”

“Do you mean to insult me, sir?” gasped Mrs. Pinkerton, growing very red in the face.

“Not at all; but they were left either to you or your husband, as you might jointly agree.”

The lady was about to decline accepting them at all, but it occurred to her that they might be made over to suit her husband, and so save the expense of a new pair, and, she directed that they should be sent to him.

Then, gathering her family about her, she strode majestically from the office, shaking off, metaphorically, the dust of her feet against it.

Next Mr. Granger, after a few words with the lawyer, departed. Mr. Cornelius Dixon also announced that he must depart.

“Come and see me some time in the city,” he said to Herbert, “and if you ever get a windfall just put it into my hands, and I’ll go into business with you.”

“I’ll remember,” said Herbert, “but I’m afraid it’ll be a good while before that.”

“I don’t know about that. You can open a second-hand clothing store. The old man’s left you a good stock in trade. Good joke, isn’t it? Good-by.”

Next Miss Nancy rose to go.

“Tell your mother to call and see me, my boy,” she said, kindly, to Herbert. “I wish my brother’d left her more, for I know she needs it.”

“Thank you, Miss Nancy,” said Herbert, respectfully; “but we don’t complain. We are thankful for what we have received.”

“You’re the best of ‘em,” said the old lady, earnestly. “You’re a good boy, and God will prosper you.”

She went out, and of the eight heirs Herbert alone remained.

CHAPTER VI

THE LAWYER’S HOME

The lawyer regarded Herbert with a smile.

“Your uncle’s will doesn’t seem to have given general satisfaction,” he said.

“No,” responded Herbert; “but for my part I have come out as well as I expected.”

“I suppose you know Mr. Carter was rich?”

“So my mother told me.”

“How much do you think he was worth?”

Herbert was rather surprised at this question. Why should the lawyer ask it, when of course he knew much more about the matter?

“About a hundred thousand dollars, I suppose,” he answered.

“You are not far wrong. Now doesn’t your share, and your mother’s, seem very small compared with this large amount?”

“It is very small compared with that, but we had no claim to anything. The clothes and the money will be very useful to us.”

“You are a model heir,” said Mr. Spencer, smiling “You alone do not find fault, except, of course, Miss Nancy, who has fared the best.”

“I would rather make a fortune for myself than inherit one from another,” said Herbert, sturdily.

“I respect your independence, my boy,” said the lawyer, who felt favorably disposed toward our hero. “Still, a legacy isn’t to be despised. Now tell me when you want to take your trunk.”

“I want to ask your advice about that,” said Herbert. “I walked over from Wrayburn. How shall I carry the trunk back?”

“You will have to return by the stage to-morrow morning, that is, if you are ready to go back so soon.”

“Do they charge much to stop overnight at the hotel?” asked Herbert, anxiously, for he had but seventy-five cents with him. It occurred to him how foolish he had been not to consider that it would be necessary for him to spend the night in Randolph.

“I don’t know exactly how much. I think they charge fifty cents for a bed, and the same for each meal.”

Herbert’s face lengthened, and he became alarmed. How was he going to manage, on his limited resources?

The lawyer penetrated his perplexity, and, being a kind-hearted man, quickly came to his relief.

“I think you would find it lonely at the hotel, my boy,” he said, “and I shall therefore invite you to pass the night at my house instead.”

“You are very kind, sir,” said Herbert, gratefully, finding his difficulty happily removed. “I accept your invitation with pleasure.”

“The boy has been well brought up, if he is poor,” thought Mr. Spencer. “Well,” he said, “that is settled. I think our supper must be ready, so we will go over to the house at once. By the way, there is a boy from your town visiting my son. You must know him?”

“Is it James Leech?” asked Herbert, remembering what James had told him.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“We are schoolmates.”

“Then it will be pleasant for you to meet.”

Herbert was not quite sure about this, but forbore to say so.

He accompanied Mr. Spencer to his house, which was just across the street from the office, and followed the lawyer into an apartment handsomely furnished. James Leech and Tom Spencer were sitting at a small table, playing checkers.

“Hello, Carter!” exclaimed James, in surprise, “how came you here?”

“Mr. Spencer invited me,” said Herbert, not surprised at the mode of address.

“Did your uncle leave you anything?” asked James, with interest.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“He left my mother a hundred dollars.”

“That isn’t much,” said James, contemptuously. “Was that all?”

“No, he left me a trunk, and what is in it.”

“What is in it?”

“Clothes, I believe.”

“A lot of old clothes!” commented James, turning up his nose. “That’s a fine legacy, I must say.”

“I shall find them useful,” said Herbert, quietly.

“Oh, no doubt. You can roll up the pants and coat-sleeves. It will be fun to see you parading round in your uncle’s tailcoats.”

“I don’t think you’ll have that pleasure,” said Herbert, flushing. “If I wear them I shall have them made over for me.”

“I congratulate you on your new and extensive wardrobe,” said James, mockingly. “Won’t you cut a dash, though, on the streets of Wrayburn!”

Herbert did not deign a reply to this rude speech. Tom Spencer, who was much more of a gentleman than James, was disgusted with his impertinence. He rose, and took Herbert by the hand.

“You must let me introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Thomas Spencer, and I am glad to see you here.”

“Thank you,” said Herbert, his heart opening at the frank and cordial manner of the other. “My name is Herbert Carter, and I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you going to finish this game, Tom?” drawled James, not relishing the idea of Herbert’s receiving any attention from his friend.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll have it another time,” said Tom. “There goes the supper bell, and I for one am hungry.”

At the supper table James noticed, to his secret disgust, that Herbert was treated with as much consideration as himself. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer appeared to consider them social equals, which made James very uncomfortable.

“You boys are about of an age, I suppose,” said Mr. Spencer.

“I really don’t know,” said James, haughtily.

“You attend the same school?”

“Yes,” said James, “but I expect to go to some select academy very soon. At a public school you have to associate with all classes, you know.”

Mr. Spencer arched his brows, and steadily regarded the young aristocrat.

“I don’t see any great distinction of classes in a country village,” said he, dryly. “Besides, we are living in a republic.”

“You wouldn’t like to associate on equal terms with a day laborer,” said James, pertly.

“I am a laborer myself,” said the lawyer, smiling. “I wish I could say I were a day laborer exclusively, but sometimes I have to work into the night.”

“You are a professional man, and a gentleman,” said James. “You don’t work with your hands.”

“I hope you boys will all grow up gentlemen,” said Mr. Spencer.

“I shall, of course,” said James.

“And you, Tom?”

“I hope so.”

“And you, Herbert?”

“I hope so, too,” said Herbert; “but if it is necessary to be rich to be a gentleman, I am not sure about it.”

“What is your idea of a gentleman, James?” asked the lawyer.

“He must be of a good family, and wear good clothes, and live nicely.”

“Is that all?”

“He ought to be well educated.”

“I see you name that last which I should name first. So these constitute a gentleman, in your opinion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not always. I have known men combining all the qualifications you have mentioned, who were very far from being gentlemen, in my opinion.”

“How is that, sir?” asked James, puzzled.

“They were arrogant, puffed up with an idea of their own importance, deficient in politeness.”

“How well he has described James!” thought Herbert, but he was too much of a gentleman to say so.

James looked disconcerted, and dropped the subject. He thought the lawyer had some queer ideas. Why need a gentleman be polite to his inferiors? he thought, but he didn’t say so.

After supper the boys went out behind the house, and feasted on peaches, which were just ripe. Herbert found Tom very social, but James took very little notice of him. Our hero did not make himself unhappy on this account. In fact, he was in unusual good spirits, and enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of going back to Wrayburn with the welcome news of the two legacies.

About half past seven Mr. Spencer came out into the orchard.

“As the stage starts early in the morning, Herbert,” he said, “we had better go over and get the trunk ready, so that you can take it home.”

James Leech hoped to receive an invitation to accompany the two; but no invitation was given, and he was forced to content himself with staying behind.