CHAPTER XVIII.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
"That is the court-house," said David Wallace, pointing out a brick building, surmounted by a wooden cupola.
John glanced at the building to which his attention was thus called. He had hardly done so than he started and uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"What's the matter?" demanded David.
"Won't you stop the horse?" asked John, hastily. "I want to get out."
"What for?"
"There's a man I know. I want to speak to him."
David stopped the horse, and John sprang to the ground. He hurried to the gateway of the court-house, by which a gentleman was just entering.
"Squire Selwyn!" John called out.
Mr. Selwyn, for it was indeed he, turned in surprise, and could hardly believe his eyes.
"John Oakley!" he exclaimed; "is it really you?"
"Yes, sir."
"How came you here?"
"It is a long story, sir. Can you spare me fifteen minutes? I had written you a letter, and was just about to post it," said John.
"Yes, I will spare you that time. Come into the court-house with me, and we will find a chance to sit down."
"One minute, sir, and I will be with you."
John returned to the wagon, and said to the surprised David:—
"It is the gentleman to whom I was going to post a letter. I am going in to have a talk with him. I won't trouble you to stop for me, but I can walk home. I am very much obliged to you for bringing me so far."
"How long will you be?" asked David.
"Half an hour perhaps."
"I shall be here as long as that. I will go on and do my errands, and stop here on my way back. Then, if you are through, I will take you along. You would find it warm walking."
"You're very kind, David."
"I'd rather have company than not. It makes the time go quicker. So go ahead. It's all right."
David started the horse, and John rejoined the lawyer, who had been waiting for him.
"You say you were just going to post me a letter?" said Squire Selwyn.
"Yes, sir."
"Of course you have it with you?"
"Here it is."
"I will read it. That will be the shortest way of getting at what you wish to consult me about. After I have read it, I will ask any questions that seem needful. But first we will come in."
They entered the court-house, and went into a room to the left, where they found seats. Squire Selwyn put on his spectacles, and read the letter slowly and deliberately.
"You are in a difficult position, John," he said, when he had finished reading. "You are very unpleasantly situated, I should judge."
"Very, sir."
"And this Mr. Huxter doesn't seem a very agreeable man to have dealings with?"
"I should be very unhappy if I expected to be obliged to stay with him."
"You say he is intemperate?"
"He drank several times on his way back in the stage, and the boy with whom I rode over says he has been intemperate for years."
"Certainly he is not a fit person to have charge of you. Does he know that you have come over here to-day?"
"No, sir."
"It is evidently Mrs. Oakley's intention that you you should not be allowed to communicate with me, or any of your other friends in Hampton. So, no doubt, she has instructed her brother. There must be some motive for this."
Squire Selwyn looked thoughtfully at John as he said this, perhaps with a view of drawing out John's opinion.
"I think," said John, hesitatingly, "that she is going to look for the will."
"I won't say whether I agree with you or not," said Squire Selwyn, cautiously. "It is not best to charge any one with wrong thoughts or intentions too hastily, but it is well to be prepared for what may be done to our disadvantage. Of course it is for your interest that the will should be found, provided the discovery is made public."
"Yes, sir."
"But would Mrs. Oakley make it public, if found, when it is for her interest to keep it concealed? That is an important question."
"She can do what she pleases so far as I am concerned. She has sent me away from home, where I shall know nothing that is going on."
"In one sense you are wholly in the power of your stepmother," said the lawyer; "but you will have some one to look after your interests. Your father was my friend, and you are my son's friend. I shall do what I can in your behalf."
"Thank you, sir," said John, gratefully. "I felt sure you would, and that is why I wrote to you at once."
"As soon as I return to Hampton,—and that will be to-morrow,—I will call on Mrs. Oakley, and, without letting her know how I came by the information, will set before her your present position, and demand that she pursue a different course. The result I will communicate to you. How do you wish me to direct any letter I may have occasion to write?"
"To Milbank, if you please, Squire Selwyn. If directed to Jackson, I feel sure that it would fall into Mr. Huxter's hands."
"And never reach you. Very likely you are right. Then I will direct to Milbank, and will write at once upon having my interview with Mrs. Oakley."
"Suppose Mr. Huxter ill-treats me in the mean time?" suggested John. "I think it is his intention to set me to work next week."
"Did he not say you were boarding with him?"
"That is what Mrs. Oakley said in her letter."
"Then if he is paid a full price for your board, I do not see that he has any claim upon your services. It is better, however, to avoid cause of quarrel until you hear from me."
"And if you cannot induce Mrs. Oakley to change her plans?" asked John. "You wouldn't advise me to stay with Mr. Huxter?"
"Didn't your father have a married sister?" inquired Squire Selwyn. "I think I have heard so."
"Yes, sir. Her husband kept a country store in the town of Wilton."
"That is about fifty miles to the westward. Well, though I don't in general approve of a boy's running away, it might be advisable, should your stepmother continue obstinate, and Mr. Huxter seem disposed to abuse you, to leave here, and seek out your aunt. Should you make this change, you would of course immediately communicate with me."
"Yes, sir. Thank you for the advice. I never thought of that before; but I think it is the best thing I could do."
"Have you any money, John?" asked Squire Selwyn, putting his hand into his pocket.
"Yes, sir; thank you. I have thirty dollars."
"Indeed!" said the lawyer, surprised. "Did Mrs. Oakley supply you with so much?"
"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.