A BRILLIANT SCHEME.
Lackawanna Avenue is the principal thoroughfare in the city of
Scranton. Anthracite Avenue leads from it eastwardly at right angles.
Midway in the second block, on the right side of this last named
street, there stood, twenty years ago, a small wooden building, but
one story in height. It was set well back from the street, and a stone
walk led up to the front door. On the door-post, at the left, was a
sign, in rusty gilt letters, reading:--
JOHN R. SHARPMAN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
On the morning following his interview with Robert Burnham, Simon
Craft turned in from Anthracite Avenue, shuffled along the walk to the
office door, and stood for a minute examining the sign, and comparing
the name on it with the name on a bit of paper that he held in his
hand.
"That's the man," he muttered; "he's the one;" and he entered at the
half-opened door.
Inside, a clerk sat, busily writing.
"Mr. Sharpman has not come down yet," he said, in answer to Craft's
question. "Take a chair; he'll be here in twenty minutes."
The old man seated himself, and the clerk resumed his writing.
In less than half an hour Sharpman came in. He was a tall, well-built
man, forty years of age, smooth-faced, with a clerical cast of
countenance, easy and graceful in manner, and of pleasant address.
After a few words relating to a certain matter of business, the clerk
said to his employer,--
"This man has been waiting some time to see you, Mr. Sharpman."
The lawyer advanced to Craft, and shook hands with him in a very
friendly way. "Good-morning, sir," he said. "Will you step into my
office, sir?"
He ushered the old man into an inner room, and gave him an easy,
cushioned chair to sit in. Sharpman was nothing, if not gracious. Rich
and poor, alike, were met by him with the utmost cordiality. He had
a pleasant word for every one. His success at the bar was due, in no
small degree, to his apparent frankness and friendliness toward all
men. The fact that these qualities were indeed apparent rather than
real, did not seem to matter; the general effect was the same. His
personal character, so far as any one knew, was beyond reproach. But
his reputation for shrewdness, for sharp practice, for concocting
brilliant financial schemes, was general. It was this latter
reputation that had brought Simon Graft to him.
This morning Sharpman was especially courteous. He regretted that his
visitor had been obliged to wait so long. He spoke of the beautiful
weather. He noticed that the old man was in ill health, and expressed
much sorrow thereat. Finally he said: "Well, my friend, I am at your
service for any favor I can do you."
Craft was not displeased with the lawyer's manner. On the contrary,
he rather liked it. But he was too shrewd and far-sighted to allow
himself to be carried away by it. He proceeded at once to business. He
took from an inner pocket of his coat the paper that Robert Burnham
had given to him the day before, unfolded it slowly, and handed it to
Sharpman.
"I want your opinion of this paper," he said. "Is it drawn up in legal
shape? Is it binding on the man that signed it?"
Sharpman took the paper, and read it carefully through; then he looked
up at Craft in unfeigned surprise.
"My dear sir!" he said, "did you know that Robert Burnham died last
night?"
The old man started from his chair in sudden amazement.
"Died!" he exclaimed. "Robert Burnham--died!"
"Yes; suffocated by foul air in his own mine. It was a dreadful
thing."
Craft dropped into his chair again, his pale face growing each moment
more pale and gaunt, and stared at the lawyer in silence. Finally he
said: "There must be some mistake. I saw him only yesterday. He signed
that paper in my presence as late as four o'clock."
"Very likely," responded Sharpman: "he did not die until after six.
Oh, no! there is no mistake. It was this Robert Burnham. I know his
signature."
The old man sat for another minute in silence, keen disappointment
written plainly on his face. Then a thought came to him.
"Don't that agreement bind his heirs?" he gasped, "or his estate?
Don't somebody have to pay me that money, when I bring the boy?"
The lawyer took the paper up, and re-read it. "No;" he said. "The
agreement was binding only on Burnham himself. It calls for the
production of the boy to him personally; you can't produce anything to
a dead man."
Old Simon settled back in his chair, a perfect picture of gaunt
despair.
Sharpman continued: "This is a strange case, though. I thought that
child of Burnham's was dead. Do you mean to say that the boy is still
living?"
"Yes; that's it. He wasn't even hurt. Of course he's alive. I know
it."
"Can you prove it?"
"Certainly!"
The lawyer gazed at his visitor, apparently in doubt as to the man's
veracity or sanity, and again there was silence.
Finally Craft spoke. Another thought had come to him.
"The boy's mother; she's living, ain't she?"
"Burnham's widow? Yes; she's living."
"Then I'll go to her! I'll make a new contract with her. The money'll
be hers, now. I'll raise on my price! She'll pay it. I'll warrant
she'll pay it! May be it's lucky for me, after all, that I've got her
to deal with instead of her husband!"
Even Sharpman was amazed and disgusted at this exhibition of cruel
greed in the face of death.
"That's it!" continued the old man in an exulting tone; "that's the
plan. I'll go to her. I'll get my money--I'll get it in spite of
death!"
He rose from his chair, and grasped his cane to go, but the excitement
had brought on a severe fit of coughing, and he was obliged to resume
his seat until it was over.
This delay gave Sharpman time to think.
"Wait!" he said, when the old man had finally recovered; "wait a
little. I think I have a plan in mind that is better than yours--one
that will bring you in more cash."
"More cash?" Craft was quiet and attentive in a moment. The word
"cash" had a magical influence over him.
Sharpman arose, closed the door between the two rooms tightly, and
locked it. "Some one might chance to intrude," he explained.
Then he came back, sat down in front of his visitor, and assumed an
attitude of confidence.
"Yes," he said, "more cash; ten times as much."
"Well, what's your plan?" asked the old man, somewhat incredulously.
"Let me tell you first what I know," replied the lawyer. "I know that
Mrs. Burnham believes this boy to be dead; believes it with her whole
mind and heart. You would find it exceedingly difficult to convince
her to the contrary. She would explain away your proofs: she would
fail to recognize the child himself. Such an errand as you propose
would be little better than useless."
Sharpman paused.
"Well, what's your plan?" repeated Craft, impatiently.
The lawyer assumed a still more confidential attitude.
"Listen! Burnham died rich. His wealth will mount well up into the
hundreds of thousands. He leaves a widow and one daughter, a little
girl. This boy, if he is really Burnham's son, is entitled to one
third of the personal property absolutely, to one third of the real
estate at once, and to one fourth of the remainder at his mother's
death. Do you understand?" Old Simon nodded. This was worth listening
to. He began to think that this shrewd lawyer was going to put him
in the way of making a fortune after all. Sharpman continued: "Now,
the boy is a minor. He must have a guardian. The mother would be the
guardian preferred by law; but if, for any reason, she should fail
to recognize the boy as her son, some one else must be appointed. It
will be the duty of the guardian to establish his ward's identity in
case it should be disputed, to sue for his portion of the estate, if
necessary, and to receive and care for it till the boy reaches his
majority. The usual guardian's commission is five per cent, retainable
out of the funds of the estate. Do you see how the management of such
an estate would be a fortune to a guardian, acting within the strict
letter of the law?"
Craft nodded again, but this time with eagerness and excitement. He
saw that a scheme was being opened up to him that outrivalled in
splendid opportunities any he had ever thought of.
After a pause Sharpman asked, glancing furtively at his client:--
"Do you think, Mr. Craft, that you could take upon your shoulders the
duties and responsibilities attendant upon such a trust? In short,
could you act as this boy's guardian?"
"Yes, no doubt of it"; responded the old man, eagerly. "Why, I would
be the very person. I am his nearest friend."
"Very well; that's my opinion, too. Now, then, as to the boy's
identity. There must be no mistake in proving that. What proof have
you? Tell me what you know about it."
Thus requested, Craft gave to the lawyer a detailed account of the
disaster at the bridge, of the finding and keeping of Ralph, of his
mysterious disappearance, and of the prolonged search for him.
"Day before yesterday," continued the old man, "I was watching the
crowds at the circus,--I knew the boy was fond of circuses,--an who
should go by me into the tent but this same Ralph. I made sure he was
the identical person, and yesterday I went to Robert Burnham, and got
that paper."
"Indeed! Where does the boy live? what does he do?"
"Why, it seems that he works at picking slate, in Burnham's own
breaker, and lives with one Bachelor Billy, a simple-minded old
fellow, without a family, who took the boy in when he was abandoned by
the circus."
"Good!" exclaimed the lawyer; "good! we shall have a capital case. But
wait; does Mrs. Burnham know of your interview with her husband, or
about this paper?"
"I don't know. I left the man at his office, alone."
"At what hour?"
"Well, about half-past four, as nearly as I can judge."
"Then it's not at all probable that she knows. He went from his office
directly to the breaker, and died before she could see him."
"Well, how shall we begin?" said Craft, impatiently. "What's the first
thing to be done?" Visions of golden thousands were already floating
before his greedy eyes.
"We shall not begin at all, just yet," said Sharpman. "We'll wait till
the horror and excitement, consequent upon this disaster, have passed
away. It wouldn't do to proceed now; besides, all action should be
postponed, at any rate, until an inventory of the estate shall have
been filed."
A look of disappointment came into old Simon's face. The lawyer
noticed it. "You mustn't be in too much of a hurry," he said. "All
good things come slowly. Now, I'll tell you what I propose to do.
After this excitement has passed over, and the lady's mind has become
somewhat settled, I will go to her myself, and say to her frankly that
you believe her son to be still alive. Of course, she'll not believe
me. Indeed, I shall be very careful to put the matter in such a shape
that she will not believe me. I will say to her, however, that you
have employed me to prosecute your claim for services to the child,
and that it will be necessary to have a guardian appointed against
whom such action may be taken. I will suggest to her that if she will
acknowledge the boy to be her son, she will be the proper person to
act as his guardian. Of course, she will refuse to do either. The rest
is easy. We will go into court with a petition setting forth the facts
in the case, stating that the boy's mother has refused to act as his
guardian, and asking for your appointment as such. Do you see?"
"Oh, yes! that's good; that's very good, indeed."
"But, let me see, though; you'll have to give bonds. There's the
trouble. Got any money, or any rich friends?"
"Neither; I'm very poor, very poor indeed, Mr. Sharpman."
"Ah! that's awkward. We can do nothing without bondsmen. The court
wouldn't let us touch a penny of that fund without first giving good
bonds.".
The look of disappointment and trouble had returned into the old man's
face. "Ain't there some way you could get bonds for me?" he asked,
appealingly.
"Well, yes, I suppose I might procure bondsmen for you; I suppose I
might go on your bond myself. But you see no one cares to risk his
fortune in the hands of a total stranger that way. We don't know you;
we don't know what you might do."
"Oh! I should be honest, Mr. Sharpman, perfectly honest and discreet;
and you should not suffer to the value of a cent, not a single cent."
"No doubt your intentions are good enough, my dear sir, but it
requires great skill to handle so large an estate properly, and a
single error in judgment on your part might cost thousands of dollars.
Good intentions and promises are well enough in their way, but they
are no security against misfortune, you see. I guess we'll have to
drop the scheme, after all."
Sharpman arose and walked the floor in apparent perplexity, while
Craft, resting his hands on his cane, and staring silently at the
lawyer, tried to conceive some plan to prevent this golden opportunity
from eluding his grasp. Finally Sharpman stopped.
"Craft," he said, "I'll tell you what I'll do. If you will give me a
power of attorney to hold and manage all the funds of the trust until
the boy shall have attained his majority, I'll get the necessary bonds
for you."
Craft thought a moment. The proposition did not strike him favorably.
"That would be putting the whole thing out of my hands into yours," he
said.
"Ah! but you would still be the boy's guardian, with right to use all
the money that in your judgment should be necessary, to maintain and
educate him according to his proper station in life. For this purpose
I would agree to pay you three thousand dollars on receipt of the
funds, and three thousand dollars each year thereafter, besides your
guardian's commission, which would amount to eight or ten thousand
dollars at least. I would also agree to pay you a liberal sum for
past services, say two or three thousand dollars. You would have no
responsibility whatever in the matter. I would be liable for any
mistakes you might make. You could use the money as you saw fit. What
do you say?"
The scheme appeared to Simon Craft to be a very brilliant one. He saw
a great fortune in it for himself, if he could only depend on the
lawyer's promises.
"Will you give me a writing to this effect?" he asked.
"Certainly; we shall have a mutual agreement."
"Then I'll do it. You'll get the lion's share I can see that easy
enough; but if you'll do what you say you will, I shan't complain.
Then will I have a right to take the boy again?"
"Yes, after your appointment; but I don't think I would, if I were
you. If he is contented and well off, you had better let him stay
where he is. He might give you the slip again. How old is he now?"
"I don't know exactly; somewhere between ten and twelve, I think."
"Well, his consent to the choice of a guardian is not necessary; but I
think it would be better, under the circumstances, if he would go into
court with us, and agree to your appointment. Do you think he will?"
Old Simon frowned savagely.
"Yes, he will," he exclaimed. "I'll make him do it. I've made him do
harder things than that; it's a pity if I can't make him do what's for
his own benefit now!" He struck the floor viciously with his cane.
"Easy," said the lawyer, soothingly, "easy; I fear the boy has been
his own master too long to be bullied. We shall have to work him in a
different way now. I think I can manage it, though. I'll have him come
down here some day, after we get Mrs. Burnham's refusal to acknowledge
him, and I'll explain matters to him, and show him why it's necessary
that you should take hold of the case. I'll use logic with him, and
I'll wager that he'll come around all right. You must treat boys as
though they were men, Craft. They will listen to reason, and yield to
persuasion, but they won't be bullied, not even into a fortune. By the
way, I don't quite understand how it was, if Burnham was searching
energetically for the boy, and you were searching with as much energy
for the boy's father all those years, that you didn't meet each other
sooner."
Craft looked up slyly from under his shaggy eyebrows.
"May I speak confidentially?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"Well, then, I didn't wear myself out hunting for the boy's friends,
for the first year or two. Time increases the value of some things,
you know--lost children, particularly. I knew there was money back
of the boy by the looks of his clothes. I kept matters pretty well
covered up for a while; allowed that he was my grandson; made him
call me 'Grandpa'; carried the scheme a little too far, and came near
losing everything. Now, do you see?"
Sharpman nodded, and smiled knowingly. "You're a shrewd man, Craft,"
he said.
But the old man's thought had returned to the wealth he believed to
be in store for him. "What's to be done now?" he asked. "Ain't there
something we can start on?"
"No; we can do nothing until after I have seen the widow, and that
will be a couple of months yet at least. In the meantime, you must not
say a word to any one about this matter. The boy, especially, must not
know that you have been here. Come again about the first of September.
In the meantime, get together the evidence necessary to establish the
boy's identity. We mustn't fail in that when it comes to an issue."
"I'll have proof enough, no fear of that. The only thing I don't like
about the business is this waiting. I'm pretty bad here," placing his
bony hand on his chest; "no knowing how long I'll last."
"Oh! you're good for twenty years yet," said Sharpman, heartily,
taking him by the hand, and walking with him to the door. "A--are you
pretty well off for money? Would trifling loan be of any benefit to
you?"
"Why, if you can spare it," said the old man, trying to suppress his
evident pleasure at the offer; "if you can spare it, it would come in
very handy indeed."
Sharpman drew a well-filled wallet from his pocket, took two bills
from it, folded them together, and placed them into Craft's trembling
fingers. "There," he said, "that's all right; we won't say anything
about that till we come into our fortune."
Old Simon pocketed the money, mumbling his thanks as he did so. The
two men shook hands again at the outer door, and Craft trudged down
the avenue, toward the railroad station, his mind filled with visions
of enormous wealth, but his patience sorely tried by the long delay
that he must suffer before his fingers should close upon the promised
money.
Sharpman returned to his office to congratulate himself upon the happy
chance that had placed so rich an opportunity within his grasp. If the
old man's story were true--he proposed to take steps immediately to
satisfy himself upon that point--then he saw no reason why he should
not have the management of a large estate. Of course there would be
opposition, but if he could succeed so far as to get the funds and the
property into his hands, he felt sure that, in one way or another, he
could make a fortune out of the estate before he should be compelled
to relinquish his hold. As for Simon Craft, he should use him so
far as such use was necessary for the accomplishment of his object.
After that he would or would not keep faith with him, as he chose.
And as for Ralph, if he were really Robert Burnham's son, he would
be rich enough at any rate, and if he were not that son he would
not be entitled to wealth. There was no use, therefore, in being
over-conscientious on his account.
It was a brilliant scheme, worth risking a great deal on, both of
money and reputation, Sharpman resolved to make the most of it.