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THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
By
George Barr McCutcheon
Author of The Daughter of Anderson Crow, Graustark,
Beverly of Graustark, Brewster's Millions, Nedra, etc.
With Illustrations by Harrison Fisher
1908
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE LATE MR. SKAGGS
II AN EXTRAORDINARY DOCUMENT
III INTRODUCING HOLLINGSWORTH CHASE
IV THE INDISCREET MR. CHASE
V THE ENGLISH INVADE
VI THE CHÂTEAU
VII THE BROWNES ARRIVE
VIII THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
IX THE ENEMY
X THE AMERICAN BAR
XI THE SLOUGH OF TRANQUILLITY
XII WOMEN AND WOMEN
XIII CHASE PERFORMS A MIRACLE
XIV THE LANTERN ABOVE
XV MR. SAUNDERS HAS A PLAN
XVI TWO CALLS FROM THE ENEMY
XVII THE PRINCESS GOES GALLOPING
XVIII THE BURNING OF THE BUNGALOW
XIX CHASE COMES FROM THE CLOUDS
XX NEENAH
XXI THE PLAGUE IS ANNOUNCED
XXII THE CHARITY BALL
XXIII THE JOY OF TEMPTATION
XXIV SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS
XXV THE DISQUIETING END OF PONG
XXVI DEPPINGHAM FALLS ILL
XXVII THE TRIAL OF VON BLITZ
XXVIII CENTURIES TO FORGET
XXIX THE PURSUIT
XXX THE PERSIAN ANGEL
XXXI A PRESCRIBED MALADY
XXXII THE TWO WORLDS
XXXIII THE SHIPS THAT PASS
XXXIV IN THE SAME GRAVE WITH SKAGGS
XXXV A TOAST TO THE PAST
XXXVI THE TITLE CLEAR
ILLUSTRATIONS
"He saw the Princess for the first time that afternoon"
"'Don't you intend to present me to Lady Deppingham?'"
"'No,' she said to herself, 'I told him I was keeping them for him'"
"He felt that Genevra was still looking into his eyes"
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S
CHAPTER I
THE LATE MR. SKAGGS
The death of Taswell Skaggs was stimulating, to say the least,
inapplicable though the expression may seem.
He attained the end of a hale old age by tumbling aimlessly into the
mouth of a crater on the island of Japat, somewhere in the mysterious
South Seas. The volcano was not a large one and the crater, though
somewhat threatening at times, was correspondingly minute, which
explains--in apology--to some extent, his unfortunate misstep.
Moreover, there is but one volcano on the surface of Japat; it seems all
the more unique that he, who had lived for thirty years or more on the
island, should have stepped into it in broad daylight, especially as it
was he who had tacked up warning placards along every avenue of
approach.
Inasmuch as he was more than eighty years old at the time, it would seem
to have been a most reprehensible miscalculation on the part of the Grim
Reaper to have gone to so much trouble.
But that is neither here nor there.
Taswell Skaggs was dead and once more remembered. The remark is proper,
for the world had quite thoroughly forgotten him during the twenty odd
years immediately preceding his death. It was, however, noticeably worth
while to remember him at this particular time: he left a last will and
testament that bade fair to distress as well as startle a great many
people on both sides of the Atlantic, among whom it may be well to
include certain distinguished members of the legal profession.
In Boston the law firm of Bowen & Hare was puzzling itself beyond reason
in the effort to anticipate and circumvent the plans of the firm of
Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin, London, E.C.; while on the other side of
the Atlantic Messrs. Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin were blindly struggling
to do precisely the same thing in relation to Messrs. Bowen & Hare.
Without seeking to further involve myself, I shall at once conduct the
reader to the nearest of these law offices; he may hear something to his
own interest from Bowen & Hare. We find the partners sitting in the
private room.
"Pretty badly tangled, I declare," said Mr. Hare, staring helplessly at
his senior partner.
"Hopelessly," agreed Mr. Bowen, very much as if he had at first intended
to groan.
Before them on the table lay the contents of a bulky envelope: a long
and stupendous letter from their London correspondents and with it a
copy of Taswell Skaggs's will. The letter had come in the morning's
mail, heralded by a rather vague cablegram the week before. To be brief,
Mr. Bowen recently had been named as joint executor of the will,
together with Sir John Allencrombie, of London, W.C., one time neighbour
of the late Mr. Skaggs. A long and exasperating cablegram had touched
somewhat irresolutely upon the terms of the will, besides notifying him
that one of the heirs resided in Boston. He was instructed to apprise
this young man of his good fortune. This he delayed in doing until after
he had obtained more definite information from England. The full and
complete statement of facts was now before him.
There was one _very_ important, perhaps imposing feature in connection
with the old gentleman's will: he was decidedly sound of mind and body
when it was uttered.
When such astute lawyers as Bowen & Hare give up to amazement, the usual
forerunner of consternation, it is high time to regard the case as
startling. Their practice was far-reaching and varied; imperviousness
had been acquired through long years of restraint. But this day they
were sharply ousted from habitual calmness into a state of mind
bordering on the ludicrous.
"Read it again, Bowen."
"The will?"
"No; the letter."
Whereupon Mr. Bowen again read aloud the letter from Bosworth, Newnes &
Grapewin, this time slowly and speculatively.
"They seem as much upset by the situation as we," he observed
reflectively.
"Extraordinary state of affairs, I must say."
"And I don't know what to do about it--I don't even know how to begin.
They're both married."
"And not to each other."
"She's the wife of a Lord-knows-what-kind-of-a-lord, and he's married to
an uncommonly fine girl, they say, notwithstanding the fact that she has
larger social aspirations than he has means."
"And if that all-important clause in the will is not carried out to the
letter, the whole fortune goes to the bow-wows."
"Practically the same thing. He calls them 'natives,' that's all. It
looks to me as though the bow-wows will get the old man's millions. I
don't see how anything short of Providence can alter the situation."
Mr. Bowen looked out over the house-tops and Mr. Hare laughed softly
under his breath.
"Thank heaven, Bowen, he names you as executor, not me."
"I shall decline to serve. It's an impossible situation, Hare. In the
first place, Skaggs was not an intimate friend of mine. I met him in
Constantinople five years ago and afterward handled some business for
him in New York. He had no right to impose upon me as if------"
"But why should you hesitate? You have only to wait for the year to roll
by and then turn your troubles over to the natives. Young Browne can't
marry Miss Ruthven inside of a year, simply because there is no Miss
Ruthven. She's Lady--Lady--what's the name?"
"Deppingham."
"And Browne already has one Mrs. Browne to his credit, don't you see?
Well, that settles it, I'd say. It's hardly probable that Browne will
murder or divorce his wife, nor is it likely that her ladyship would
have the courage to dispose of her encumbrance in either way on such
short notice."
"But it means millions to them, Hare."
"That's their unfortunate lookout. You are to act as an executor, not as
a matrimonial agent."
"But, man, it's an outrage to give all of it to those wretched
islanders. Bosworth says that rubies and sapphires grow there like
mushrooms."
"Bosworth also says that the islanders are thrifty, intelligent and will
fight for their rights. There are lawyers among them, he says, as well
as jewel diggers and fishermen."
"Skaggs and Lady Deppingham's grandfather were the only white men who
ever lived there long enough to find out what the island had stored up
for civilisation. That's why they bought it outright, but I'm hanged if
I can see why he wants to give it back to the natives."
"Perhaps he owes it to them. He doubtless bought it for a song and,
contrary to all human belief, he may have resurrected a conscience.
Anyhow, there remains a chance for the heirs to break the will."
"It can't be done, Hare, it can't be done. It's as clean an instrument
as ever survived a man."
It is, by this time, safe for the reader to assume that Mr. Taswell
Skaggs had been a rich man and therefore privileged to be eccentric. It
is also time for the writer to turn the full light upon the tragic
comedy which entertained but did not amuse a select audience of lawyers
on both sides of the Atlantic. As this tale has to do with the
adventures of Taswell Skaggs's heirs and not with the strange old
gentleman who sleeps his last sleep literally in the midst of the island
of Japat, it is eminently wise to make as little as possible of him.
Mr. Skaggs came of a sound old country family in upper England, but
seems to have married a bit above his station. His wife was serving as
governess in the home of a certain earl when Taswell won her heart and
dragged her from the exalted position of minding other people's children
into the less conspicuous one of caring for her own. How the uncouth
country youth--not even a squire--overcame her natural prejudice against
the lower classes is not for me to explain. Sufficient to announce, they
were married and lived unhappily ever afterward.
Their only son was killed by a runaway horse when he was twenty, and
their daughter became the wife of an American named Browne when she was
scarcely out of her teens. It was then that Mr. Skaggs, practically
childless, determined to make himself wifeless as well.
He magnanimously deeded the unentailed farm to his wife, turned his
securities into cash and then set forth upon a voyage of exploration. It
is common history that upon one dark, still night in December he said
good-bye forever to the farm and its mistress; but it is doubtful if
either of them heard him.
To be "jolly well even" with him, Mrs. Skaggs did a most priggish thing.
She died six months later. But, before doing so, she made a will in
which she left the entire estate to her daughter, effectually depriving
the absent husband of any chance to reclaim his own.
Taswell Skaggs was in Shanghai when he heard the news. It was on a
Friday. His informant was that erstwhile friend, Jack Wyckholme.
Naturally, Skaggs felt deeply aggrieved with the fate which permitted
him to capitulate when unconditional surrender was so close at hand. His
language for one brief quarter of an hour did more to upset the progress
of Christian endeavour in the Far East than all the idols in the Chinese
Empire.
"There's nawthin' in England for me, Jackie. My gal's a bloomin'
foreigner by this time and she'll sell the bleedin' farm, of course.
She's an h'American, God bless 'er 'eart. I daresay if I'd go to 'er and
say I'd like my farm back again she'd want to fork hover, but 'er bloody
'usband wouldn't be for that sort of hextravagance. 'E'd boot me off the
hisland."
"The United States isn't an island, Tazzy," explained Mr. Wyckholme,
gulping his brandy and soda.
Mr. Wyckholme was the second son of Sir Somebody-or-other and had
married the vicar's daughter. This put him into such bad odour with his
family that he hurried off to the dogs--and a goodly sized menagerie
besides, if the records of the inebriate's asylum are to be credited.
His wife, after enduring him for sixteen years, secured a divorce. It
may not have been intended as an insult to the scapegoat, but no sooner
had she freed herself from him than his father, Sir Somebody-or-other,
took her and her young daughter into the ancestral halls and gave them a
much-needed abiding-place. This left poor Mr. Jack quite completely out
in the world--and he proceeded to make the best and the worst of it
while he had the strength and ambition. Accepting the world as his home,
he ventured forth to visit every nook and cranny of it. In course of
time he came upon his old-time neighbour and boyhood friend, Taswell
Skaggs, in the city of Shanghai. Neither of them had seen the British
Isles in two years or more.
"'Ow do you know?" demanded Taswell.
"Haven't I been there, old chap? A year or more? It's a rotten big place
where gentlemen aspire to sell gloves and handkerchiefs and needlework
over the shop counters. At any rate, that's what every one said every
one else was doing, and advised me to--to get a situation doing the
same. You know, Tazzy, I couldn't well afford to starve and I _wouldn't_
sell things, so I came away. But it's no island."
"Well, that's neither here nor there, Jackie. I 'aven't a 'ome and you
'aven't a 'ome, and we're wanderers on the face of the earth. My wife
played me a beastly trick, dying like that. I say marriage is a blooming
nuisance."
"Marriage, my boy, is the convalescence from a love affair. One wants to
get out the worst way but has to stay in till he's jolly well cured. For
my part, I'm never going back to England."
"Nor I. It would be just like me, Jackie, to 'ave a relapse and never
get out again."
The old friends, with tear-dimmed eyes, shook hands and vowed that
nothing short of death should part them during the remainder of their
journey through life. That night they took an inventory. Jack Wyckholme,
gentleman's son and ne'er-do-well, possessed nine pounds and a fraction,
an appetite and excellent spirits, while Taswell Skaggs exhibited a
balance of one thousand pounds in a Shanghai bank, a fairly successful
trade in Celestial necessities, and an unbounded eagerness to change his
luck.
"I have a proposition to make to you, Tazzy," said Mr. Wyckholme, late
in the night.
"I think I'll listen to it, Jackie," replied Mr. Skaggs, quite soberly.
As the outcome of this midnight proposition, Taswell Skaggs and John
Wyckholme arrived, two months later, at the tiny island of Japat,
somewhere south of the Arabian Sea, there to remain until their dying
days and there to accumulate the wealth which gave the first named a
chance to make an extraordinary will. For thirty years they lived on the
island of Japat. Wyckholme preceded Skaggs to the grave by two winters
and he willed his share of everything to his partner of thirty years'
standing. But there was a proviso in Wyckholme's bequest, just as there
was in that of Skaggs. Each had made his will some fifteen years or more
before death and each had bequeathed his fortune to the survivor. At the
death of the survivor the entire property was to go to the grandchild of
each testator, with certain reservations to be mentioned later on, each
having, by investigation, discovered that he possessed a single
grandchild.
The island of Japat had been the home of a Mohammedan race, the
outgrowth of Arabian adventurers who had fared far from home many years
before Wyckholme happened upon the island by accident. It was a British
possession and there were two or three thousand inhabitants, all
Mohammedans. Skaggs and Wyckholme purchased the land from the natives,
protected and eased their rights with the government and proceeded to
realise on what the natives had unwittingly prepared for them. In course
of time the natives repented of the deal which gave the Englishmen the
right to pick and sell the rubies and other precious stones that they
had been trading away for such trifles as silks, gewgaws and women; a
revolution was imminent. Whereupon the owners organised the entire
population into a great stock company, retaining four-fifths of the
property themselves. This seemed to be a satisfactory arrangement,
despite the fact that some of the more warlike leaders were difficult to
appease. But, as Messrs. Wyckholme and Skaggs owned the land and the
other grants, there was little left for the islanders but arbitration.
It is only necessary to add that the beautiful island of Japat, standing
like an emerald in the sapphire waters of the Orient, brought millions
in money to the two men who had been unlucky in love.
And now, after more than thirty years of voluntary exile, both of them
were dead, and both of them were buried in the heart of an island of
rubies, their deed and their deeds remaining to posterity--with
reservations.