THE ECCENTRIC CLIENT
Several months passed, and bravely did Earle Wayne battle with the world
and fate.
Cheerfully, too; for, although he did not permit himself to see much of
Editha, lest his purpose not to speak of love should fail him, yet in
his heart he knew that she loved him, and would wait patiently until his
conscience would allow him to utter the words that should bind her to
him.
This he felt he had no right to do until his name could be cleared from
the stain resting upon it, and he had also gained a footing and practice
in the world which would warrant his asking the aristocratic Miss Dalton
to be his wife. It was hard, up-hill work, however, for Notwithstanding
he had passed a brilliant examination and been admitted to the bar, yet
it seemed as if some unseen force or enemy was at work to press him down
and keep him from climbing the ladder of either fame or wealth.
And there was such an enemy!
Sumner Dalton hated him. He hated him for what he had so dishonorably
learned regarding him—who and what he was—and for the relationship which
he bore to that face which he had seen in his mysterious package.
He hated him for the interest which Editha manifested in him, and also
because Richard Forrester had desired him to have a portion of his vast
fortune, and the former had dared to oppose and defy him regarding the
matter.
He could never brook opposition from any one, and he had always
possessed a strange desire to be revenged upon anybody who stood in his
way in any form whatever.
It would not do for him to revenge himself directly upon Editha, for
she, with all her money, was altogether too important a personage to
him; but he knew he could do so indirectly through Earle, and so set
himself to work to crush him.
Thus, through his efforts, many a client, who would have gladly availed
themselves of the brilliant young lawyer’s services, were influenced to
go elsewhere, and their fees, which would have been such a help to Earle
in these first dark days went to enrich the already overflowing coffers
of some more noted and “respectable” practitioner of Blackstone.
But, for all this, he won for himself some practice, in which he proved
himself very successful, and not unfrequently gained the admiration of
judge, jury, and spectators by his intelligence, shrewdness, and
eloquence.
But a covert sneer always followed every effort.
Brother lawyers shrugged their shoulders and remarked, “what a pity it
was that so much talent was not better appreciated, and that the taint
upon his name must always mar his life,” it was a “pity, too, that so
fine a young man otherwise, to all _outward appearance_, could not make
a better living; but then people were apt to be shy of employing
‘prison-birds,’ the old proverb ‘set a thief to catch a thief’ to the
contrary notwithstanding.”
It was Sumner Dalton who had set this ball a-rolling, and had kept it in
motion until the day came when Earle was obliged to sit from morning
till night in his office, and no one came to him for advice or counsel.
He remembered what Editha had told him to do if he had need—go to Mr.
Felton and get enough for his wants; but he was too proud to do this—he
would be dependent upon no one but himself.
He could have gone and asked that lawyer to give him work, as he had
said he would do; but if he had recourse to his offer, Editha would
doubtless hear of it, and, thinking him to be in need, would be made
unhappy thereby.
Many a time the tempter whispered, when there was scarcely a dollar left
in his purse:
“Never mind, in a few months you will have but to reach forth your hand
and pluck the golden harvest which Richard Forrester has set apart for
you, and all your trials will be at an end.”
It needed but Editha’s majority and her signature to insure him
independence. But he would not yield.
“I will build up my own foundation, or I will not build at all,” he
would say at such times, with gloomy brow and firmly compressed lips,
but with undaunted resolution.
One evening he sat in his office more than usually depressed.
He had not had a single call during the week, and now, as it was
beginning to grow dusk, he yielded himself up to the sad thoughts that
oppressed him.
It was beginning to storm outside, and as he looked forth into the
dismal street, a feeling of desperation and dreariness came over him,
such as he had not experienced before.
His office was excessively gloomy, for he did not indulge much in the
luxury of gas nowadays, since he had not the wherewith to pay for it.
His purse lay upon the table before him—he had been inspecting its
contents and counting his money.
All that remained to him in the world was a two-dollar bill and some
small pieces of silver.
“It will keep me just one week longer, not counting in any washing,” he
muttered; then adding, with a grim smile: “and a lawyer with dirty
wristbands and collar is not likely to invite many clients.”
Just then a newsboy passed through the corridor, calling his paper.
“I shall be wrecked indeed if I cannot have the daily news,” Earle said,
bitterly, as he sprang impatiently to his feet.
He picked up a bit of silver, and, going to the door, bought a paper.
Coming back, and, as if reckless of consequences, he lighted the gas,
turning on the full blaze, and then seating himself comfortably in one
chair and putting his feet in another, he began to read.
Scarcely had he done so when he heard a shuffling step outside in the
corridor, and then there came a rap on his door.
Wondering who should seek him at that hour, he arose and opened it.
A short, thin-visaged, wiry man, of about fifty, stood without.
With a little bob of his head, he said, in a voice as thin as his face:
“You’re the chap that conducted the Galgren case, ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir; will you come in and have a seat?” Earle replied, politely,
yet with a slight smile at the way he had addressed him, and wondering
what this rather seedy personage could desire of him.
The man entered and sat down with his hat on, eyeing Earle sharply the
while.
“Ain’t doing much just now?” he said, his sharp eyes wandering from him
to his empty table, noticing the purse with its scant contents, and then
at the books undisturbed on their shelves.
“No, sir, I have not been very busy this week,” Earle quietly replied.
“That Galgren case was a tough one, eh?” the man then remarked,
abruptly.
“Rather a knotty problem, that is a fact,” replied Earle, somewhat
surprised at the interest the man manifested in a case so long past.
“Would you like another of the same sort, only a thousand times worse?”
he asked, with a keen glance.
“I want _work_, sir, let it be of what kind it may; and I am willing to
do almost _anything_ in an honorable way.”
“Well, then, I can give it to you. I’ve a knot that I want untied that
is worse than forty Gordian knots woven into one; and if you can untie
it, or even cut it asunder for me, as Alexander did of old, and relieve
me of the fix I’m in, I think I can promise you something handsome for
your trouble.”
“Your statement does not sound very favorable for my being able to do
so, but I can try,” Earle replied, the look of bitterness and anxiety
beginning to fade out of his face, while his eyes lighted with a look of
keenness and eagerness at the thought of work.
He sat up in his chair with a movement full of energy, and then added,
with a smile:
“Let me take your hat, sir; then show me this wonderful knot of yours,
and we’ll see what can be done with it.”
The man removed his hat, and Earle saw that it was half full of papers,
letters, etc., which he turned out upon the table, and then proceeded to
unfold the case which he wished the young lawyer to take charge of.
A long conference followed; question after question was put and
answered, and every paper looked into and explained, and the clock on
the belfry-tower near by struck the hour of midnight before Earle’s
strange visitor left him, and a handsome retaining fee as well.
This he did not demand, but the man’s keen eyes had more than once
rested on that empty pocket-book lying upon the table, and he doubtless
knew that it would not come amiss.
For the next four months Earle had no need to complain of a lack of
work—night and day he toiled, quietly, steadily, persistently, a stern
purpose visible in his face, a light in his fine eyes which meant
“victory,” if such a result was possible.
This case, which indeed proved a most perplexing one, he felt assured
would either “make or mar” his whole future; and, if there was any such
thing as winning, he was determined to conquer.
It was to come to trial the first of October.
He had had about four months to work it up in, and now, on the last
night of September, he sat again alone in his office, with folded hands
and weary brain, but with a smile of satisfaction lighting up his face
instead of the weary expression of bitterness which rested there on that
dreary night when he received his first visit from the thin-visaged,
wiry man.
He was reasonably sure of success, notwithstanding that the opposing
counsel was one of the oldest and ablest lawyers in the city, and he was
aware that if he gained the case against him he could not fail to be
looked upon with respect for the future.
It provided a tedious trial, for a whole week was occupied in hearing
the case, and as point after point, cunning and complicated in the
extreme, came up in opposition to the prosecution, and was calmly and
clearly rebutted and overthrown, it was plainly to be seen that the tide
of popular feeling was turning in favor of the young and gifted lawyer,
and Earle felt that his weary labor of four months had been well spent,
if it gained him even this.
And who shall describe the eloquence that flowed from his lips as, with
his whole heart in his work, he stood up before the multitude and made
his plea?
It was clear and concise, witty and brilliant—a masterpiece of rhetoric,
logic, and conclusive evidence, combined with a thorough knowledge of
all the intricacies of the law, and which did not fail to impress every
hearer; and, when at last he sat down, cheer after cheer arose, and a
perfect storm of applause that would not be stayed testified to the
admiration and conviction which he had excited.
It was a proud moment for Earle Wayne, the poor, despised convict, and
Sumner Dalton, sitting there, heard all, and ground his teeth in
fiercest rage.
He had not known of the case until almost the last, having been again at
Newport. But it had got into the papers recently, and Earle’s name as
counsel for the prosecution had attracted his attention, and he had
returned to the city and been present during the last few days of the
trial.
Something very like a sob burst from our hero’s grateful heart at this
acknowledgment of his worth and power, but it was drowned in the din,
and, though nearly every eye was fixed upon him, they saw nothing
unusual—only a very handsome young man, who looked somewhat pale and
worn with hard work and the excitement of the week.
The victory was his; the case was won, for a verdict was rendered in
favor of his client, and the men who had hitherto shunned him and curled
the lips of scorn and pity for the “poor chap with the stigma resting on
his name,” now came forward to shake hands and congratulate him on his
victory. His rigid course of study and discipline under Richard
Forrester’s direction spoke for itself; _he_ had been a keen,
sharp-witted, successful lawyer, and his pupil bade fair to outstrip
even his brilliant achievements.
“Who are you?” abruptly asked the wiry, thin-visaged man, as he grasped
Earle’s hand in grateful acknowledgment after the court was dismissed.
“I do not think I have changed my identity since I last saw you, sir. I
am Earle Wayne,” Earle said, with an amused smile.
“Yes, yes; but I tell you you’ve got blue blood in your veins. A man
that can do what you have done is worth knowing, and _I_ want to know
what stock you came from.”
A shadow flitted across Earle’s handsome face at these remarks, but it
soon passed, and, still smiling, he returned:
“I pretend to no superior attributes; I was a poor boy, without home or
friends, until Mr. Forrester took me in and gave me the benefit of his
knowledge and instruction. I have been unfortunate also since then, as
you very well know, and when you came to me to take charge of this case,
I was well-nigh discouraged.”
“I knew it—I knew it; but I knew also that the true grit was in you. I
saw it in the Galgren case, and I’ve watched you since. Besides,” with a
shrewd look up into the handsome face, “I knew hungry dogs always work
hardest for a bone, and they seldom fail to get it, too; that’s one
reason I brought you my case, and I’m proud of the result.”
“Thank you, sir,” Earle said, laughing at the simile of the hungry dog.
“I am glad that your confidence was not misplaced, and I congratulate
you upon our success—it gives you a very handsome fortune.”
“Yes, yes; a decent bit of property, I’ll admit; but how much of it are
you going to want?”
Earle colored at his way of putting this question; it seemed to him a
trifle surly and ungrateful after his hard work.
“I trust not more than is right, sir; but we will talk of this another
time, if you please,” he said, with dignity.
The little man chuckled to himself, as, slipping his arm familiarly
within Earle’s, he drew him one side.
“How much do you want? Remember, it takes a good deal to pay for a
_pound of desk_, and you’ve lost a good many since I came to you that
night four months ago,” he persisted.
Earle saw that the man was really kind at heart, and meant well by him
in spite of his unprepossessing manner.
“And you must remember, sir, that the reputation of this success is
worth considerable to me but I suppose this is a very unbusiness-like
way to talk, and if you are in a hurry for me to set my fee, I will do
so,” and he named a sum which he thought would pay him well for his
labor.
The little, thin-visaged, wiry man chuckled again, and clapped Earle
upon the shoulder in an approving manner.
“Very moderate and proper for a youngster, only let me whisper a little
bit of advice in your ear, albeit I’m no lawyer. When you can find a fat
customer, _salt a good slice of him for yourself_, and when a _lean_ one
comes along, don’t cut in quite so deep. How’s that for counsel?”
“Very good,” Earle said, with a hearty laugh; “but,” with a sparkle of
mischief in his eye, as it traversed the thin form of his client from
top to toe, “I’m in some doubt as to which class you would prefer to
belong to.”
The little man tapped his pockets significantly, and then shoving a hand
into each, drew forth two good-sized rolls of bills and showed them to
him.
“Fat, youngster, when I’ve any dealings with you, though I can tell you
I know how to _pinch hard_ in the right place;” and his wiry fingers
closed over the bills in a way that reminded Earle of miniature boa
constrictors.
He was a strange character, and though during the trial things had come
out which seemed to make him out a miser, harsh and soulless in all his
dealings with men, yet Earle thought there must be a spot of goodness
and generosity about him somewhere, for he seemed so appreciative of his
services. And the result proved he was right.
“I’ll call around and settle to-morrow; I want this thing off my mind;
and I reckon you’ve not found many bones to pick besides this during the
last four months,” he said at parting.
“No, sir; this gigantic one has occupied all my time and skill.”
“Spoiled any teeth?” his client asked, facetiously.
“No, sir; sharpened them; ready for another,” Earle responded, in the
same strain, to carry out the poor joke.
“You’ll do; I would like you for a son; wish I had a daughter—you should
marry her;” and the little man, with his characteristic bob of the head,
turned and went his way, while Earle, musing upon the events of the day
returned to his office, but thinking that if his client happened to have
a daughter, he might wish to be excused from a nearer relationship to
him, notwithstanding the now plethoric state of his money-bags.
The next morning he received a check for five thousand dollars from the
eccentric man, together with an expression of gratitude for his faithful
services. And this was the foundation—the “foundation laid with his own
hands”—which Earle now began to build upon.
There were no more idle days for him. Work poured in upon him from every
side. Success brought countless friends, where before he had not
possessed one and he bade fair ere long to fulfill Richard Forrester’s
prediction concerning him—that he had a brilliant career before him.