CHAPTER XVI.
THE LETTER FROM MARGUERITE.
Mr. Checkynshaw walked down to No. 3 Phillimore Court. It was very plain that he had business there, for it was not his style to visit a poor man who was sick. He was admitted by Maggie, who feared that his coming related to the robbery of his safe, and that Leo might be in some manner implicated in that affair.
"How is your father, miss?" asked the stately gentleman from State Street, as he entered the house.
"He is more comfortable to-day, sir; but I don't know that he is really any better," answered Maggie.
"I am very sorry he is sick. I miss him very much. He has waited upon me at the shop for several years, and I never let any other barber shave me, if I can have him by waiting an hour," added Mr. Checkynshaw, with a degree of condescension which he rarely exhibited. "You are his daughter, I believe."
"Not his own daughter; but it is just the same."
"I think I have seen you at the shop several times."
"Yes, I always carry upmon père'sdinner at half past twelve. He can't come home at noon."
"Mon père!You speak French—do you?"
"Yes, sir. I speak French and English equally well. Won't you go in and seemon père!"
Mr. Checkynshaw would be very glad to see André, and Maggie conducted him to the front room.
"I am sorry you are sick, André," said the great man.
"Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you to call upon me," replied André, amazed at the gracious mien of one who had rarely spoken to him save in the tones of authority, addressing him as a menial and an inferior.
"I always feel an interest in those I see every day; but the fact that you were taken sick at my house probably brought the matter more directly to my attention. Are you comfortably provided for, André?" asked the rich man, glancing around the room.
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir. I have everything I need," replied André, faintly; for he was not quite so sure of what he said as he wished to be, though his pride and independence revolted at any suggestion of charity.
"I saw Leo up in State Street. Your boy's name is Leo—isn't it?" asked the banker, just as though it derogated from his dignity to know the name of a poor boy like the barber's son.
"Yes, sir; his name is Leo," replied Maggie, taking up the conversation, so that the invalid might not be compelled to talk too much.
"He is driving quite a trade in white mice," laughed the great man.
"Has he met with any success, sir?" asked Maggie, who felt that everything depended upon Leo's exertions; and she hardly expected him to accomplish anything in the mouse business.
"Yes, he has been remarkably successful, I should say."
"I am so glad!"
"I bought the house he had with him for six dollars, and he has orders for two more just like it, at the same price. That will give him quite a lift, I hope."
"Indeed it will!" exclaimed Maggie, delighted with the good news. "Eighteen dollars for white mice,mon père," she added, turning to André.
"That is very good indeed!" said the barber. "Leo is a brave boy."
"Knowing that you had a family, André, and that your wages were not very large, I thought I would inquire into the matter a little. I should be very glad to help you."
"Thank you, Mr. Checkynshaw," replied André, in his feminine tones, weakened by his sickness. "I think we do not need any help—do we, Maggie?"
"No,mon père, especially as Leo is doing so well. I think we shall get along well enough."
"I am afraid you are too proud to be very poor," said the banker, glancing at Maggie.
"We have always got along very well, and I think we shall in the future. Leo says he shall do great things; and I hope he will."
"Then Leo is to support the family," added Mr. Checkynshaw, fixing his gaze upon the fair girl, who seemed to him altogether too delicate and refined to be a poor man's daughter.
"Perhaps I maybe able to do something by and by, whenmon pèregets better."
"What can you do?"
"I can sew, and do any work that I can take home with me."
"Ah,ma fille, you can take in no work. I shall soon be able to go to the shop again," interposed André.
"I have a great deal of spare time,mon père. I am able, and O, I am so willing to work for you!"
"Perhaps I may be of service to you," suggested Mr. Checkynshaw.
"Thank you, sir."
"You speak French, miss, I think you said," added the banker, with an assumed indifference.
"Yes, sir."
"Can you write it correctly?"
"Yes, sir, I think I can."
"Maggie is a very good scholar, and she writes French quite as well as she does English."
"Perhaps you will be willing to give me a specimen of your skill in translating."
"Certainly, sir, if you desire it."
Mr. Checkynshaw took from his pocket the letter he had written in his private office, and the French note paper he had purchased at the stationery store, and handed them to her.
"If you will sit down in the other room, and give me a translation into French of this letter, I can at once determine whether you would be of any service to us. If you are, we will pay you very liberally; but most of our work of this kind is translating French into English."
"I will try, sir," replied Maggie.
"I will stay here with your father while you do it."
Maggie went into the rear room; and in less than half an hour she produced a translation of the letter handed to her.
"That is excellently well done, miss," said Mr. Checkynshaw, when he had glanced at the translation. "You write a beautiful hand. It is even better than my daughter's."
"You are very kind, sir."
"I will keep this as a specimen of your work. Here are two dollars for the job," added Mr. Checkynshaw, as he gave her the money.
"Indeed, sir, you are too kind. I don't ask any money for that."
"Take it, Maggie; I always pay people that work for me, especially when they do their work as well as you have done this. Take it, miss, or I shall be offended."
It was not safe to offend such a munificent patron, and Maggie took the money, blushing as she did so.
Mr. Checkynshaw folded up the translation, and put it into his pocket; and, promising to send her some more letters in a few days, he took his leave. The banker went back to his private office. After ransacking his papers for a long time, he found an old letter directed to him, in the care of the firm, postmarked at Paris, with a French postage stamp upon it. Into the envelope of this letter he thrust the translation which Maggie had made.
The banker seated himself in his arm-chair, put his feet on the desk, and lighted a cigar. Mr. Checkynshaw held to the pernicious belief that smoking soothed the nerves of an excited man. He smoked and thought for a while, till his meditations were disturbed by the entrance of Mrs. Wittleworth and Fitz.
"I hope you will excuse me for coming again so soon, Mr. Checkynshaw," said Mrs. Wittleworth, timidly.
"I hope you'll excusemetoo," added Fitz, thrusting his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, and pursing up his under lip, as he had a habit of doing when he particularly realized his own importance.
He stood with his hat on his head—a narrow-brimmed "stove-pipe," which young men were more in the habit of wearing at that period than at the present time. He was the impersonation of impudence and self-conceit, and the banker looked angry enough to annihilate him.
"I thought I would come and see if you had anything to show me from Marguerite," continued Mrs. Wittleworth, after the banker had bestowed a look of supreme contempt upon Fitz.
"I have something to show you," replied Mr. Checkynshaw, taking the old envelope which contained Maggie's translation from his pocket, and handing it to her.
Fitz was rather taken aback by this ready reply, and by the sight of the musty envelope. His nether lip actually returned to its normal position under the shock.
"This is from Marguerite—is it?" asked Mrs. "Wittleworth.
"It is from Marguerite," replied Mr. Checkynshaw.
"What is it, mother? Open it. Don't be humbugged," said Fitz.
The poor woman opened the letter, and looked blankly at its contents.
"It is in French," she added.
"Marguerite always writes her letters in French," added the banker.
"Because she knows you can't read a word of French," sneered Fitz.
"No impudence, young man!"
"Don't, Fitz!" pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Mr. Checkynshaw, this business must be settled between me and you. You will not be permitted to take advantage of a woman's weakness to impose upon her," added Fitz, magnificently.
"If you use any impudence in this office, young man, I shall kick you out to-day as I did yesterday."
"Mr. Checkynshaw, I have my own views and opinions on this subject, and I claim the privilege of expressing them as a gentleman should. I have been to see Choate on this business; and me and Choate will see that justice is done to the unfortunate."
"Be still, Fitz!" said his mother.
"I will not be still, mother," protested Mr. Wittleworth. "I will not stand still and have you imposed upon."
The banker sprang out of his chair, and his late clerk retreated a pace or two.
"Mr. Checkynshaw, I have only one word to say," he added, placing himself near enough to the door to effect a hasty retreat in case of necessity. "My mother is disposed to accept your offer of ten thousand dollars for a quitclaim deed of the block of stores. I don't intend that she shall do anything of the kind. I've been to my lawyer, sir—a gentleman recommended by Choate; for Choate is so busy that he can't attend to the case personally; and my lawyer says that none but anon composwould give a quitclaim deed to the property. If my mother sees fit to sign any such paper, my lawyer will take steps to restrain her, sir. Those are my views. I've nothing more to say, Mr. Checkynshaw."
Mr. Wittleworth tipped his hat over on one side, thrust his thumbs into his arm-holes, and pursed up his lips again, as though he had already set the river on fire. His mother was angry and disgusted with him, as she often had occasion to be.
"Is the quitclaim deed ready, Mr. Checkynshaw?" asked the poor woman.
"No; but it shall be ready, and the check with it to-morrow."
"Mother," exclaimed Fitz, in warning tones,—and he evidently did not place much dependence upon the restraining power of his lawyer,—"you promised not to sign any paper to-day."
"And you promised to behave yourself, Fitz, if I permitted you to come with me. I can't depend upon you, and I am going to accept Mr. Checkynshaw's offer," retorted his mother, sharply.
"You are?" gasped Fitz.
"I am; and if the paper was ready, I would sign it this moment. Will you let me take this letter home with me, Mr. Checkynshaw?"
"Certainly, Ellen," replied the banker, graciously.
"I used to read French a little when I was a girl, and I may be able to study out some of it."
"As you like; but when you come again, don't bring that boy with you."
Mrs. Wittleworth and her son retired. On their way home, an angry discussion ensued. Fitz raved at the weakness of women in general, and of his mother in particular; but she firmly declared, even if she was satisfied that Marguerite was not living, she would sign the deed. In the house, both of them examined the letter. Fitz did not know a word of French, and his mother could only make out "Mon cher père," and an occasional word in the letter.
"I will tell you what we can do, mother. André Maggimore, round in Phillimore Court, is a Frenchman, and can talk French like a Dutchman."
"But he is very sick, you said."
"So he is. Well, his daughter Maggie can read it. I will take it to her this evening."
After supper, Fitz, with the letter in his pocket, started for the barber's house.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE LETTER FROM FRANCE.
Leo conducted his team to Pemberton Square, and knocked at the back door of the rich man's house. One of the kitchen girls answered the summons, and great was her surprise when she saw the palace of the mice. It was taken into the kitchen, and Mrs. Checkynshaw was called. She came down, accompanied by Miss Elinora. Leo explained that the banker had purchased the establishment, and that he had been directed to deliver it.
Elinora, though she had sat up late the night before at the party, and had been very ill-natured all day, was surprised into a smile of pleasure when she saw the cunning little creatures in their curious house. Leo gave them some canary seed, of which he carried a supply in his pocket, in order to induce the pets to exhibit themselves when desired. They had behaved very well thus far, and had produced a favorable impression upon all who had seen them.
Elinora was pleased with the mice because they promised to afford her a new sensation.
"I think I'll have them in my chamber, mother, where I can see them," said she, after she had looked at them a while.
"I wouldn't have them in my chamber, miss," replied Leo.
"Why, not?"
"They sleep in the daytime, and train in the night. They would rattle about the house so that you could not sleep."
"I will have them in my dressing-room, then," added she.
"That's not exactly the place for them," continued Leo, who had not a very clear idea of what the dressing-room was.
"Where would you keep them, then?" asked Elinora, petulantly.
"In the kitchen, or the back room."
"What, keep such a pretty cage as that in the kitchen?" exclaimed the rich man's daughter.
"You can see it just as well in the kitchen as in the parlor, and it is just as handsome in one place as another, miss. White mice are pretty little creatures, miss; but, like rabbits, squirrels, and other animals, they have an odor of their own which isn't pleasant, especially when they are shut up in a warm room," Leo explained, with a smile to soften the disparaging remark, for he didn't like to say anything against the pets.
"I don't want them, then," said Elinora, turning up her delicate nose.
"They won't trouble you if you have them well cared for, and keep them in a proper place. A horse is a very fine animal; but you would not find him agreeable in the parlor," added Leo. "There's a nice place for them;" and he pointed to the washroom, through which he had entered the kitchen. "You can come down and see them when you wish, and they won't trouble any one out there."
Mrs. Checkynshaw decided to have the house put up in the wash-room, as Leo suggested, and the young mechanic volunteered to do the work. He had brought with him a couple of wooden brackets and some screws, and, with the assistance of Tom Casey, he put them up, and placed the palace upon them. Mrs. Checkynshaw and her daughter watched the operation with interest, and asked a great many questions about the mice and their habits. Leo talked and worked, and by the time he had finished the job, he had explained all he knew of the little animals. He told the kitchen girl, who was to take care of them, how to feed them, and how to clean out the cage, admonishing her to do the latter every day.
The lady of the house was so well pleased with the zeal and pains displayed by the young mechanic, that she gave him half a dollar for the extra labor he had performed; and Leo and Tom left the house.
"It's a good job you've done the day," said Tom, as they walked down the square.
"I've done first rate, Tom. I've sold my work for a fair price, and got two more jobs. I'm lucky, and I'm very grateful, too, for my good fortune. Tom, I'll give you the half dollar the lady handed to me for your share of the work."
"Go way wid you! I won't take it!" protested the Irish boy.
"Yes, you must, Tom. You have helped me. I don't know how I should have got along without you."
"Niver you mind that. Your ould man is sick, and it's great need you'll have of all the money you can lay your hands on."
"But I have made six dollars besides this, and I'm not going to pocket all the plunder. Take this, and buy some book you need."
Tom was finally prevailed upon to accept the half dollar, though he did so under protest. Leo was happy—never so happy before in his life. Success had crowned his darling scheme, and he entered the house with a radiant smile upon his face. But, in the midst of his exultant joy, he did not forget that his father, for whose sake he had been stimulated to make this mighty effort, was very sick. As softly as a cat he opened the front door, and carried his wagon down cellar. He was disposed to go to work at once at his bench, and make the two palaces which had been ordered; but he could not resist the temptation to go up and tell Maggie what a splendid success he had realized.
"How is father?" he asked, in a whisper, as he entered the rear room, where Maggie was at work.
"He is about the same. He sleeps a great deal, and I hope he will soon be better," she replied. "So you have sold your mouse-house, Leo," she added, with a sympathizing smile.
"Who told you I had?" asked Leo, rather provoked that any one had robbed him of the pleasure of telling the triumphant news himself.
"Mr. Checkynshaw has been here," said she, laughing.
"Did he tell you how much he gave for the mouse-house?"
"Six dollars; and he said you had orders for two more at the same price. How lucky you are, Leo!"
"So I am; but I was almost discouraged before I found a single purchaser. If it hadn't been make or break with me, I should have given up, and come home. I feel good now, Maggie, I can tell you! If the market for white mice holds good, I shall make my fortune."
"I hope it will hold good, at least till father gets well. He was so delighted when he heard of your success!"
"I shall finish the two houses ordered this week, if I can, and that will make eighteen dollars—not in a week, but in three days."
"Twenty, Leo," added Maggie, with a smile.
"Twenty? Three times six are eighteen," laughed Leo.
"I made two dollars to-day by translating a letter for Mr. Checkynshaw; and he has more such work for me to do."
"How lucky we are!" exclaimed Leo; and he had not lived long enough, or seen enough of the world, to realize that the lucky ones are almost always those who are industrious and energetic—a lesson he was to learn in due time.
Leo went in to see André; and the barber declared, that with two such children as he had, he could afford to be sick, and that a terribly heavy load had been removed from his mind.
"The good God is kind to me," said he, reverently raising his eyes. "My children are taking care of me while I am helpless, as I took care of them when they were helpless."
André was patient and submissive—not as a philosopher, but as a Christian. The great calamity of want had apparently been turned from his door, and he was happy—happy in his heart, even while his frame was suffering. Blessed are they in whom Christian faith and hope have found a resting-place! In his care for these two children, André had long before been led to place his trust in things higher than earth, and in striving to guide them in the right path, he had found it himself.
Leo remained but a few moments in the sick room, and then hastened down to the workshop to commence the jobs for which he had contracted. Laying aside the four houses in which he had made some progress, he proceeded to "get out" the lumber for the others. On a paper, stuck up under the window, was the plan of the establishment he had sold to the banker, with all the dimensions written upon it. Under the bench he had several hundred feet of half-inch pine boards, which he had purchased with money earned by shovelling off sidewalks.
As the plan was already drawn, and he knew exactly how all the parts were to be put together, there was no delay in the work. He had sawed out all the lumber required for the two houses, and had nicely planed the boards, when Maggie called him to supper. He had worked very hard, but he did not feel tired. He was never weary of mechanical employment like this, even when doing it with no distinct end in view; but now that he was to keep the wolf from the door, there was an inspiration in the work which lifted him above bodily fatigue.
He went to his supper with a keen appetite; but he did not like to spare the time to eat it, and it seemed like a hardship to be compelled to leave the workshop. When he had finished his supper, and was hurrying down stairs, there was a knock at the front door. He hoped it was a customer come to order a mouse-house; but he was disappointed, when he went to the door, to find only Fitz Wittleworth there.
"Good evening, Leo. Is your sister at home?" asked Fitz, in his usual patronizing tones.
"She is," replied Leo, rather coldly, for he could not see what Fitz wanted with his sister.
"I should like to see her," added Fitz, loftily, as though his presence at the house of the barber was a condescension which Leo ought to appreciate.
"My father is sick, and Maggie is busy taking care of him," replied Leo, who felt that he was now the guardian of his sister, and he did not want any young men "hanging round," especially such young men as Mr. Wittleworth.
"I wish to see her on business," persisted Fitz, annoyed at Leo's answers, and the evident want of appreciation of the honor of his visit which the young mechanic exhibited.
"I'll speak to her. Won't you come in?"
Fitz would come in, and he did. He was shown to the rear room, where Maggie was clearing off the supper table. Fitz was a young "man of the world," and as imitative as a monkey. He had once moved in what he called "good society," and was familiar with all the little courtesies of life. He expressed his regret at the illness of André in the most courtly terms, and his sympathy with Maggie. Leo wanted to go to work, but he felt obliged to remain, and witness the interview.
"You will excuse me for calling at such a time; but I will not detain you long, Miss Maggimore. I understand that you are a French scholar. Am I rightly informed?"
"Yes, sir, I speak French," replied Maggie, beginning to expect another job in translating.
"And I suppose you read French."
"Yes, sir."
"I have really forgotten all the French I ever knew," continued Mr. Wittleworth, apologetically; and one would have supposed, from his manner, that the French language was the only thing in the world he did not know, and that it was intensely humiliating to acknowledge that he did not know that. "I have a letter from France, written in French, which it is of the utmost importance that I should read. I have taken the liberty to call upon you to beg the favor of a translation of the letter."
Mr. Wittleworth took from his pocket the letter which the banker had given to his mother.
"I shall be very happy to assist you," added Maggie, kindly.
"Thank you, Miss Maggimore. If you will give me the English of the letter, I will write down the important part of it," continued Fitz, taking a pencil and paper from his pocket, seating himself at the table, and handing her the letter.
"It is postmarked Paris," said she, glancing at the envelope.
"So I observed."
"Why, this is the very letter I translated into French for Mr. Checkynshaw to-day!" exclaimed Maggie, innocently, as she took the paper from the envelope.
"Ah, indeed!" replied Fitz, thoroughly illuminated by this flood of light.
Maggie's fair face was instantly covered with blushes. She was confident, a moment too late, that she had exposed some of Mr. Checkynshaw's business.
"You translated this letter into French for Mr. Checkynshaw—did you?" asked Fitz, taking the letter from her, and folding up his paper, as he rose from his chair.
"I did," replied Maggie; for now that the mischief, whatever it was, had been done, she could only tremble for the consequences.
"If you did, I needn't trouble you to translate it back again," added Fitz, as he took his hat and left the house very abruptly.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE QUITCLAIM DEED.
"Mother, you are determined to be imposed upon," said Fitz, as he rushed into the house with the astounding intelligence he had obtained in Phillimore Court.
"Perhaps you can afford to refuse a gift of ten thousand dollars—I cannot," replied Mrs. Wittleworth. "I did not ask or beg anything of Mr. Checkynshaw. He volunteered to give it to me, rather for my sister's sake than my own, perhaps; but I feel that I ought to take it."
"Don't touch it, mother!" protested Fitz. "It will be the ruin of you if you do. Mother, you have no confidence in me. You are willing to trust almost any one rather than me."
"I judge for myself. It is better to take Mr. Checkynshaw's gift than to starve."
"O, nonsense, mother! Why will you be so absurd?" groaned Fitz. "Why will you persist in talking about starving?"
"Why will I, Fitz? Because we have hardly five dollars in the world, and both of us are out of work."
"But I shall get something to do in a few days. Will you let me bring the suit against Checkynshaw for the block of stores?"
"No, I will not, Fitz."
"I told you Checkynshaw was imposing upon you, and now I have proved it."
"What have you proved?"
"I have proved that this letter is a forgery, as I believed it was. It was translated into French this very day by the barber's daughter. It was not written by Marguerite, and I knew it was not!" replied Fitz, triumphantly; and he proceeded to describe in detail the result of his application to Maggie to translate the letter.
"It doesn't make much difference whether it is a forgery or not," added the poor woman, in whose mind ten thousand dollars overshadowed every other consideration.
"Doesn't it!" sneered Fitz, out of patience with his mother.
"Not much. Mr. Checkynshaw says Marguerite is living; and, whether he means to do right or wrong, he is a man of great wealth and influence, and we could make nothing by going to law with him. We haven't money enough to keep us out of the almshouse more than a fortnight longer."
"But don't I say we need no money to carry on the suit? All we have to do is to attach the property. Checkynshaw won't stand trial. He'll settle it; he'll give up the block of stores."
"You don't know him," sighed Mrs. Wittleworth.
"If I don't know him, I'd like to know who does. Haven't I been in the office with him for years? Choate couldn't attend to this business himself; but he recommended a lawyer, a friend of his, and I have been to see him. I am to call again to-morrow."
"I am willing to hear all that can be said, Fitz, on both sides," replied the poor woman, tired of the controversy, but still believing that "a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush." "I will go with you, and hear what your lawyer has to say."
"Go with me!" sneered Fitz. "Do you think I can't do the business alone?"
"You don't know as much as you think you do, Fitz."
"Perhaps I don't; but if I don't understand this case, then nobody does."
Mrs. Wittleworth was disgusted, and Fitz was disgusted; and both were silent, rather because there was no prospect of making any progress in the business than because either was satisfied. Fitz had been to see the attorney recommended by the distinguished orator—a young fellow, whose practice was mostly confined to the police court, and who was so weak and silly as to be an object of ridicule to his professional brethren. This gentleman was willing to look into the case. He went to the registry of probate, and read the will. So far Fitz was justified. The next morning the lawyer called on Mr. Checkynshaw. It was very unprofessional, but it was very prudent. He did not wish to annoy a gentleman in his position if there were no just grounds for a suit.
The banker was much obliged to him for calling. The banker was plausible, and the banker finally gave him a retaining fee of fifty dollars to act for the defence, in case a suit was brought against him. He had discharged Fitz for impudence, and he was merely seeking some way to annoy him. The lawyer was satisfied, and so was the banker.
In the course of the forenoon, Fitz, attended by his mother, called upon the attorney. He had looked into the case; he was satisfied there was no ground for an action, and he declined to undertake the suit. Fitz was confounded by this reply.
"I hope you are satisfied now, Fitz," said Mrs. Wittleworth, when they were in the street.
"I am sure I am not. That man has been tampered with! I'll speak to Choate about that. Does that man mean to tell me that we have no grounds for a suit?" replied Fitz, indignantly. "I shall find another lawyer, who will undertake the case."
"You needn't do anything more about it. I am going to Mr. Checkynshaw's now."
"Are you going to accept his offer?" almost gasped Fitz.
"I am."
"This is madness, mother."
"It would be madness not to accept it; and I will not let the sun go down again before I close the business, if Mr. Checkynshaw is still of the same mind."
"Will you give up a hundred thousand dollars for ten thousand?" groaned Fitz. "We can live in Beacon Street, and ride in our carriage, if you will only take my advice."
"I shall be more likely to ride in the Black Maria over to the almshouse, if I take your advice. My mind is made up, Fitz," replied his mother, very decidedly.
"I will go with you, mother," said Fitz, desperately.
"You needn't."
"I must be a witness of the transaction, for, in my opinion, it will be a swindle on the part of Checkynshaw; and if I can pick him up on it I mean to do so."
"Fitz, if you are impudent to Mr. Checkynshaw, he will put you out of his office."
"I will not be impudent to him unless he is impudent to me."
Mrs. Wittleworth led the way now, and Fitz reluctantly followed her. He was in despair. He actually believed his mother was selling out her inheritance, a princely fortune, for a mere song; that she was sacrificing the brightest hopes a person ever had. Indeed, he went a point beyond this, and believed she was selling out his hopes and expectations; that she was wronging him out of a brilliant future. But Fitz might have comforted himself with the reflection that he had vigorously opposed the sacrifice, and that it had been made on account of no want of judgment and forethought on his part.
Fitz followed his mother into the banker's private office. Mrs. Wittleworth herself was not entirely satisfied with the situation. She was not at all sure that Marguerite had not died of cholera ten years before. Mr. Checkynshaw's course rather indicated that he was playing a deep game. Why did he want a quitclaim deed, if his rights were clear? Why had he forged a letter from Marguerite, when he must have real ones, if the daughter was still living? And it was not like him to give ten thousand dollars to a person who had no claim upon him.
The poor woman's circumstances were desperate. Want or the almshouse stared her in the face. It was possible, nay, it was probable, that Mr. Checkynshaw was deceiving her; that Marguerite was dead, and that the block of stores rightfully belonged to her; but she had no chances of success in fighting a battle with wealth and influence. If she brought the suit, the ten thousand dollars would certainly be lost, and the chances of obtaining the block of stores were all against her. The money the banker would pay her would keep her from want for the rest of her lifetime. The income of it would support her little family comfortably.
"I will sign the deed, Mr. Checkynshaw," said she, walking up to the desk where the banker sat.
"Why did you bring that boy with you?" asked the great man, with a look of contempt at his late clerk.
"He insisted upon coming."
"I think I have an interest in this business," replied Fitz, loftily. "I will be civil, Mr. Checkynshaw, but I should like to ask you one or two questions."
"You needn't."
"But I will. Why do you give my mother a letter purporting to come from your daughter Marguerite, which was written by Miss Maggimore? That's the first question I want to ask," said Fitz, with the air of a conqueror.
The banker was a little startled; but he did not lose his self-possession—he seldom did in merely business transactions.
"The letter I gave you was a true copy, Ellen," said he.
"It makes but little difference to me whether it was a true copy or not," she added.
"The originals of Marguerite's letters were in my safe, and were stolen with other papers. If your son knows Pilky Wayne, he may be able to recover them."
"I scorn the insinuation, Mr. Checkynshaw," replied Fitz, indignantly.
"I speak a little French, Ellen, but I do not read it very readily; and I had translations made of Marguerite's letters," continued Mr. Checkynshaw, without noticing the irate young man. "One of these translations I had rendered back into the French rather to give employment to the barber's daughter than for any other reason."
Mrs. Wittleworth felt no interest in the translation. Probably the banker was imposing upon her credulity, but she did not care if he was.
"Are the papers ready, Mr. Checkynshaw?" she asked, timidly, fearful that he had altered his mind in regard to the money.
"They are."
"I am ready to sign the deed."
The banker produced the document, and the check, and laid them upon the desk.
"Will you witness your mother's signature, Fitz?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw.
"No, sir. I will have no part in this transaction," replied he, sourly. "It will become my duty, at no distant day, to rip up the whole thing."
"Burnet!" called the banker, opening the window.
The taciturn cashier appeared.
"Witness this signature," added Mr. Checkynshaw.
Mrs. Wittleworth signed the quitclaim deed, and took the check. The cashier saw the act, and wrote his name in the proper place on the deed.
"Take the acknowledgment," said Mr. Checkynshaw to the cashier, who was a justice of the peace.
"You acknowledge this to be your free act and deed, Mrs. Wittleworth?" added Burnet.
"I do," replied the poor woman, or rather the rich one now, in the most decided manner.
"Have it recorded," continued the banker; and the cashier left the room with the deed in his hand.
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Checkynshaw," said Mrs. Wittleworth. "You have been very kind and very liberal to me."
"Liberal!" sneered Fitz. "He has given you ten thousand dollars for a hundred thousand. It's the best trade he ever made."
"Ellen, I am glad you are satisfied with what you have done. I give you the ten thousand dollars for the reason I stated yesterday—not because you had any claim upon me."
"I know you did, sir; and I am very grateful to you," replied Mrs. Wittleworth.
"After what I have done, it is not right that I should be annoyed by your son," added the banker.
"He shall not annoy you if I can help it."
"That's enough, Ellen. I forbid his coming here again on any pretence whatever."
"You needn't trouble yourself," replied Fitz. "I shall not come near you again if I can help it. I am rather particular about my associates."
Mrs. Wittleworth left the office, followed by Fitz. The fact that his mother had ten thousand dollars in her pocket did not seem to comfort him. He offered to draw the check for her, but his mother preferred to transact her own business. She presented the check at the bank upon which it was drawn, and deposited the money at another. She went home with a light heart, feeling that the wolf was slain, and that she was secured against grim want for the rest of her life.
Mr. Checkynshaw smiled when Mrs. Wittleworth had gone. Perhaps, as Fitz suggested, he felt that he had made a good trade. Apparently he had disposed of the only person who had the power to annoy him.
No one did annoy him. Constable Clapp came back from New York; but He brought no tidings of Pilky Wayne. The banker offered a reward of five hundred dollars for his valuable papers; but week after week passed away, and nothing was heard of them. The banker concluded that the rogue had burned them, so that no clew should be had to him.
CHAPTER XIX.
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.
Leo worked till a late hour in the night, on the day that he received the orders for the two mouse-houses. At eleven o'clock Maggie went down to the shop, and entreated him not to wear himself out. Very likely he would have worked all night if her friendly warning had not sent him to bed. The next day he stuck to his bench till nine o'clock in the evening.
On Saturday afternoon the two houses were finished, and put up at the residences of those who had ordered them. His wildest dream had been more than realized, and there was more money in the house over Sunday than there had ever been before. The prospect was still hopeful for the future. The good physician had kept his promise, and Leo had orders enough to keep him at work for two weeks. He finished the four small houses, and disposed of them at two dollars apiece, and two like that sold to the banker at six dollars apiece, during the coming week; and this made twenty dollars.
This extraordinary run of good fortune, however, did not continue long; for, during the third week, he sold but twelve dollars' worth of his merchandise, and the stock was accumulating on his hands. At the end of the fourth week he had six houses unsold; but the average proceeds of his sales had been over fifteen dollars a week.
Leo was enterprising, and with some of his funds he purchased half a dozen pairs of rabbits, and enlarged the sphere of his business. He built very tasty houses for each pair of these animals, with wire netting in front, so that they could be seen. They were provided with proper nests, with conveniences for keeping them clean. These establishments found a ready sale, at remunerative prices for the rabbits and the work.
Then he enlarged the business still further, adding guinea pigs and doves to his stock, till the basement of the house became a menagerie of pets. The dove-houses were made to be placed on sheds, or fastened to the sides of buildings, generally in front of back attic windows, where they could be readily reached. The good doctor, the banker, and his other customers had thoroughly advertised his business for him, and purchasers came every day to see his merchandise. He was continually inventing new patterns for houses, and could now keep a variety of them on hand, to enable those who patronized him to select for themselves.
Leo Maggimore worked very hard; but his business was profitable, and he had every encouragement to persevere. His net proceeds were generally twenty dollars a week; and, after paying for lumber, hardware, glass, and wire netting, his average gains were fully up to the standard he had fixed. Perhaps the young mechanic did not realize the fact, but it was none the less true, that he was largely indebted to powerful friends for the extensive sales he made. Probably many persons bought his wares solely for the purpose of assisting him in his self-imposed task of maintaining the family. Dr. Fisher, while attending the barber, stated the case to at least a hundred of his patients and friends.
The spring came, and Leo's business was as good as ever. He was making his fifteen dollars a week right along, to which Maggie sometimes added two or three more. All this time André had been steadily improving. He was now able to go out every day, and had almost recovered the use of his limbs. He was not yet in condition to use a razor, which requires a very steady and delicate hand; but he was able to do a great deal of work about the house. He helped Leo, and became general salesman for all his merchandise. The affairs of the family had been improving from the very day that André was stricken down by his malady. The only misfortune over which they mourned was, that the young mechanic had been taken out of school.
At the end of three months, when the barber felt quite able to go to work,—and Cutts & Stropmore were very anxious to have him do so,—the family were never in a more prosperous condition. There was actually about a hundred dollars in the exchequer, though Dr. Fisher's bill had not been paid; but they need not have troubled themselves about that, for the physician would no more have carried in a bill than he would have cheated one of his neighbors; and that was quite impossible for him to do.
Leo went up to see the master of the school as soon as his father was able to go to work; and it was decided that he should immediately resume his place. The teacher was confident that, with extra study, it was still possible for him to obtain the medal. Leo went to work upon his studies with the same energy and determination he had brought to bear upon the mouse business.
"Make or break!" said he; "I will catch up with my class."
Of course he succeeded, though between the shop and the books he had nearly "broken;" for there was still a demand for mice, doves, rabbits, and guinea pigs, and he added several dollars a week to the income of his father. He worked too hard; and Maggie, seeing that he was likely to "break," took upon herself the care of the menagerie and the sales, in addition to the housework, which was really quite enough for a girl of fifteen.
Maggie was a good housekeeper. Mindful of the traditions of the elders, as the spring came on she commenced the semiannual operation of house-cleaning. She went through the performance in the front room first, and then devoted herself to the chamber over it, which was Leo's room. According to her custom she took everything out of the closets, bureau, chest, and table drawers. In the course of this ceremonial she came to the chest in which Leo kept his clothes.
At the bottom she found the papers deposited there by "Mr. Hart," or possibly Pilky Wayne, for it was not certainly known who committed the robbery. There was quite a large bundle of them; and Maggie, inheriting the propensity of Mother Eve, was, of course, anxious to know what they were. She laid them on the table with other articles, and then opened one of them. She saw the name of Mr. Checkynshaw.
She was terrified when she remembered that the banker's safe had been robbed, and that Mr. Checkynshaw had come to the house with the detective to see about it. She was not quite sure of the fact, but it seemed to her that Leo had been suspected of being concerned in the robbery. Here were the valuable papers, hidden away very carefully at the bottom of Leo's chest. They must have been there at least three months, and of course her brother knew they were there.
The longer she considered the matter, the more terrified she became. It was awful to think that Leo had been concerned in a robbery. She was not willing to believe it. If there were any good boys in the world, Leo was one of them. He would cut his right hand off before he would do a wicked thing. It was impossible for her to charge the dear fellow with anything that looked like a crime.
She turned the papers over again. They were strange documents to her, with great seals on them, and no end of legal phrases. Perhaps, after all, they were not good for anything. They could not be the papers which Mr. Checkynshaw had lost. Probably they were some old and useless documents, which the banker had thrown away when they were of no further consequence. It was quite likely that Leo, who was always studying up methods of doing business, had saved them from the dirt barrels in the streets, so as to learn the forms of making out such papers.
This explanation was not quite satisfactory, though it was plausible, to her. It was about nine o'clock in the morning when she found the papers. Leo had gone to school, and her father would not return till night. She was so impatient to know whether the documents were of any value or not, that she was unwilling to wait till noon. At first she thought she would take them up to Mr. Checkynshaw himself, and ask him if they were good for anything; but she did not exactly like to do that.
Then it occurred to her that Fitz Wittleworth, who had been a clerk for the banker, could tell her just as well as his late employer, and he lived only a short distance from Phillimore Court. Mrs. Wittleworth, with a portion of the money received from the banker, had purchased a small house near her former residence. Fitz had not yet found another place, and probably both he and his mother would have come to want before this time, if she had taken his advice. Maggie went to the front door, and called Tom Casey, whom she had seen in the court from the window.
Tom was one of the gallantest young Irishmen in the city. He was a fast friend of Leo, and spent much time in the shop with him. Tom made no mental reservation when he declared that Maggie was the "purtiest gurl in the wurruld;" and he was only too happy to oblige her when she asked him to request Fitz to step in and see her for a moment. In ten minutes Mr. Wittleworth made his appearance, as grand as ever, for three months' idleness had not taken any of the starch out of him.
Maggie showed him the papers with fear and trembling. Fitz rubbed his chin, and pursed his lips, as he examined them, looked wise, and finally, after much sage deliberation, declared that the papers were of the utmost importance.
"O, dear!" groaned poor Maggie.
"What is the matter, Miss Maggimore?" demanded Mr. Wittleworth.
"What shall I do! How came those papers in my brother's chest?"
"I haven't the least idea, Miss Maggimore. I can only say that the papers are very valuable, and that Checkynshaw offered a reward for them. Now I remember! Your brother was with the man that robbed the safe."
"That's what troubles me," gasped poor Maggie.
"Don't be alarmed, Miss Maggimore. It is very fortunate that you called me to attend to this delicate business. If you had not done so, they might have thrown your brother into jail. Checkynshaw has no more consideration for a young man than a mule," said Fitz, patronizingly. "Leave it all to me, Miss Maggimore. I will see that the papers are restored to the owner, and that no harm comes to Leo."
"You are very kind," replied Maggie, hopefully.
"I am always glad to do what I can for those who are in need of assistance. It is fortunate you called me in. It will be best for you not to mention to any one that I have taken them."
Maggie thought so too, and she was very glad to have her visitor take the papers away from the house. She felt as though a contagious disease had been removed as soon as the door closed behind Fitz. Was it possible that Leo had been concerned in the robbery? If so, sooner or later he would ask what had become of the papers. The man that stole the papers had come to the house with Leo, she then called to mind for the first time; but her thoughts were confused, and instead of this circumstance affording a satisfactory explanation to her of the presence of the package in Leo's chest, it had just the opposite effect.
Fitz Wittleworth went home with the papers; went up to his room with them; examined every document in the bundle. There was a copy of his grandfather's will among them, but nothing else relating to the block of stores, and nothing which related to Marguerite—not even the letters which Mr. Checkynshaw had declared were stolen with the papers.
Mr. Wittleworth went up to the banker's office. He was civil, and Mr. Checkynshaw asked him, very sternly, what he wanted.
"You offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the recovery of the papers taken from your safe, Mr. Checkynshaw," Fitz began, pompously.
"I did."
"I claim it."
"The money is ready; where are the papers?" asked the banker, promptly.
"I have them here," replied Fitz, producing the package.
"Where did you get them?"
"That is what I must decline to answer," added Fitz, decidedly.
"Must you? Then I suppose I am to understand that you were a party to the robbery, as I have suspected from the beginning."
Mr. Wittleworth thought this was a very unreasonable view to take of the case. He decided to leave, and conduct the negotiation for the reward in some other manner. He turned to go, but the banker seized him by the collar and held him.
Mr. Wittleworth was in hot water.