THE WILL
Herbert Loring's funeral was conducted in the church to which he had
been a contributor for many years. Distant connections of the family,
old business friends, and curiosity-seekers made a gathering of average
size, and among those seated, toward the back of the audience, was
Nicholas Gayne.
The astute lawyer's expectation of a visit from him was not
disappointed. Indeed, Luther Wrenn came to his office at an earlier hour
than usual the following morning, entirely in honor of that gentleman.
On the drive to the cemetery the day of the funeral, Mr. Wrenn had
placed Diana, her mother, and Mrs. Lowell in the motor with himself.
There was little said on the way out. The lawyer was well known by
reputation to Mrs. Wilbur, and the only drawback to her satisfaction in
the arrangement was Diana's preoccupation and the knowledge that
interesting information was being kept back from her. Mrs. Wilbur had
not only sent lavish gifts of flowers to the church, but, there seeming
to be no one but paid workers to attend to the decorations, she had
personally supervised them, and, coming back from the cemetery, the
lawyer expressed his appreciation of her kindness and her presence in a
manner to apply much balm. However, he turned directly from his
respectful laudation of Mrs. Wilbur to her daughter.
"How long can you and Mrs. Lowell stay on?" he asked, and the mother
became alert. His manner signified previous acquaintance with Diana.
"Just as long as is necessary," was the girl's surprising reply.
"I am certain that Gayne will call on me the first thing to-morrow
morning, and I should like you to remain near the telephone if you
will."
"Certainly," replied Diana.
"Mr. Wrenn, I don't understand what you are asking of my daughter," said
Mrs. Wilbur crisply.
"Ah,"--the lawyer bowed gravely. "Perhaps you have not been told of the
surprising turn events have taken. It is a matter which requires secrecy
until identities are established and evil-doers circumvented. Let me
congratulate you, Mrs. Wilbur, on a remarkably fine and intelligent
daughter. She is a credit to your bringing-up. Not many mothers can
boast of having instilled such prudence."
The lady leaned back in her corner, not certain whether to accept this
disarming, or to insist immediately upon her rights. She decided to
compromise and wait until they reached the hotel.
"My daughter tells you she can wait in Boston as long as is necessary,"
she said at last, "and her mother will have to understand the
necessity."
"Certainly, Mrs. Wilbur," responded the lawyer. "We have found ourselves
in a totally unexpected situation. Mr. Herbert Loring destroyed his will
and died before he could make another."
Mrs. Wilbur exclaimed. Mr. Loring was known to be wealthy and she was
interested in fortunes. Her brain began working actively on the
probabilities of the heirs.
"The next strange event is that your young daughter has probably found
the heir."
Mrs. Wilbur raised her lorgnette and regarded Diana, drooping opposite,
as if she were a new discovery.
"I wish to understand," she said with dignity.
"It seems that Mr. Loring's disobedient daughter left a son whose
existence has been unsuspected unless Mr. Loring himself knew of it,
which he never betrayed. Your daughter and Mrs. Lowell have found the
boy."
"Not I," protested Diana. "Mrs. Lowell, in her sweet unselfishness,
deserves all the credit. I should have paid no attention to him, but
I--it was through your letter, Mamma, that I found the boy's
grandfather."
"We all had a hand in it, then, it seems," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"The boy's uncle has possession of him. His father and mother are both
dead, and, according to these ladies, the uncle can qualify as the
world's meanest man. So we proceed carefully until the proofs which he
is supposed to have are in hand. You, Mrs. Wilbur, will aid us in
silence on the subject until the right time for speaking."
"How old is he, Diana?" burst forth the lady. "What does he look like?
Is he clever and worthy of such a heritage?"
"He is a poor, shabby, ill-treated boy about fourteen years old. He has
never had a chance, but I scarcely know him. Mrs. Lowell is the one who
discovered him and cared for him."
Mrs. Wilbur glanced at Mrs. Lowell, but she could not bring herself to
ask her a question. She felt a vague jealousy and sense of injury at
finding this stranger in her child's confidence and aiding and abetting
her in so much independence of action.
As soon as possible after the reception of Mrs. Wilbur's enlightening
letter at the island, Mrs. Lowell had wired her husband that the search
was ended before it had begun, and he returned Diana's check with
congratulations.
"What an amazed boy that will be, Mr. Wrenn," remarked Mrs. Wilbur.
"What is his name?"
"Herbert Loring Gayne."
"H'm. I suppose his mother had all sorts of hope that with a son of that
name she could placate her father."
"Doubtless she did," replied the lawyer, "and I wish it might have
proved so. Perhaps they would both have been alive to-day had she
succeeded, but my old friend Loring never mentioned her to me and I
don't know what efforts she made. There must be a good deal of delay
before the young heir can come into his own."
"I suppose so," sighed Mrs. Wilbur. "That tiresome law moves slowly."
Diana looked up with sudden attention. "But we must not be dilatory in
rescuing the boy."
Mr. Wrenn nodded. "If he is proved to be the right one."
"There can be no doubt of it," said Mrs. Lowell.
"Not to charming, sympathetic ladies, of course," returned the lawyer
with a smile.
"I feel that every day counts," said Mrs. Lowell. "He must be removed
from that mental malaria as soon as possible."
"I will--" began Diana, and then she glanced at her mother,--"I mean
Mamma will gladly finance him, I'm sure, for the present."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilbur with dignity, "when you see fit to tell me
the whole story. I'm sure I haven't it yet."
"There is no reason to burden you, Mamma, with disagreeable
considerations," said Diana meekly. "I can myself look after the boy's
needs."
"Yes, she can," said Mrs. Wilbur in an offended tone. "What do you
think, Mr. Wrenn, of a father who insists on giving a young girl an
unlimited check-book, not requiring her to give any account of what she
does with money?"
The lawyer smiled at the embarrassed culprit. "I think that your
husband has proved himself a very good reader of character all through
his career."
Mrs. Wilbur bounced back into her corner. She didn't intend to bounce;
she intended to lean back gracefully, with an air of renouncing all
interest in this matter which had proceeded so far without her
coöperation, but just at that moment the car went over a
"thank-you-ma'am."
As has already been said, Luther Wrenn, the following morning, sought
his office at an earlier hour than was customary, and Nicholas Gayne was
there before him.
He did not keep him waiting long, and the stocky figure and dark face
soon appeared in the private office.
The lawyer regarded the stranger over his eye-glasses.
"I didn't have any card," said the visitor. "My name is Gayne, Nicholas
Gayne."
"Be seated, sir. What is your errand?"
"I would like to be present at the reading of the Herbert Loring will."
The speaker's manner was confident, and he seemed endeavoring to repress
excitement.
"Indeed? Are you a relative?"
"No, but my nephew is. I have a great surprise for you, Mr. Wrenn. My
nephew is Herbert Loring's grandson and namesake." Nicholas Gayne
marveled at the self-control of a lawyer, for Luther Wrenn's expression
did not change. "I visited Mr. Loring before he went abroad the last
time, but he would not listen to me or look at my proofs. So I suppose
he has not mentioned his grandson in his will, and, if that is the fact,
I wish to retain you to break the will." This declaration was made with
great energy and a flash of the speaker's dark eyes.
"You have proofs, then," said Mr. Wrenn, after a short hesitation,
perhaps to make sure of the retention of that self-control.
"Yes, right here." Gayne caught up from the floor a small black leather
bag, and opened it. "Here are the letters Bert's mother wrote her father
to try for a reconciliation. Returned unopened, you see. Here is her
picture. Perhaps you knew her."
Luther Wrenn took the small card photograph and gazed at it long.
"My brother was an irresponsible sort of chap. At the time he met Miss
Loring, he had put through a good deal and was riding on top of the
wave. She was artistic in her tastes, and he met her through the artist
set at Gloucester, where she was that summer, and she took a fancy to
him that her father couldn't break off. Unfortunate, you'll say, but
Lambert was a stunning-looking chap and she decided firmly on her
course. So now here is this boy and the law should protect his rights.
Here's the record of his birth fourteen years ago, in her own writing;
perhaps you know her writing." Gayne was talking fast and excitedly, and
Wrenn took from his hand one after another of the proofs he offered and
laid them on his desk with no change of countenance.
"What sort of a boy is your nephew?" he asked. "A bright boy?"
Gayne's face changed. He looked away. "Well, no. I can't say he is. Bert
is delicate. He needs all sorts of care, care that takes heaps of money
to pay for. I haven't been able to do for him what I'd like to. As soon
as you get his money for him, I shall engage professional care and see
that he has the best. I'm a good business man, if I do say it, and I'll
see that his funds multiply until he is able to look after his fortune
himself."
Luther Wrenn nodded. "I see," he said; and he did, very plainly. "Now,
there will be no reading of the will, Mr. Gayne. That is all attended
to. So you may leave this matter with me."
"Was the boy mentioned?" asked Gayne eagerly.
"No; no mention of him."
"You think you can get some money, though, don't you?"
"Possibly. I'll see you again."
"There ain't any kind of doubt that he's the genuine grandson," said
Gayne, rising reluctantly, as the lawyer got to his feet.
"Your proofs seem to be convincing," was the grave reply.
"Well, could you--couldn't you advance me something now for Bert's care?
He needs a lot of things, that boy does."
"You go too swiftly, Mr. Gayne. Come back here at three o'clock day
after to-morrow."
Gayne looked at the papers and picture strewn on the lawyer's desk. "I
don't know about leaving the only proofs of our rights that I've got."
Luther Wrenn turned to the desk and gathered them up. "Certainly. Take
them to some lawyer in whom you have confidence."
"Oh, pshaw, no," said Gayne sheepishly. "I didn't mean that. You were
Mr. Loring's lawyer. You're the one to handle the case."
"Good-day, then, Mr. Gayne."
"Good-day," and Nicholas took his departure.
As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wrenn seated himself at the
desk and called up the Copley-Plaza. Diana was waiting.
"Miss Wilbur?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Wrenn speaking. Mr. Gayne has been here. Please wire at once to the
island and get some one to bring the boy to your hotel as soon as
possible."
"Yes, Mr. Wrenn."
"I think Mr. Barrison is the one to ask," said Diana to Mrs. Lowell, who
was waiting near.
So it was that an hour later Philip Barrison was called to the telephone
at the island store to receive a telegram.
"I know what it is!" exclaimed Barney Kelly. "'All Saints' is going to
outbid 'The Apostles' for you. You're the rising young beggar."
He wandered down with Philip to the store and loitered about outside
talking to Matt Blake. When Philip reappeared, it was with a hurried
air.
"Want anything in Boston?" he asked.
"Of course, we do--the Brahms, but what's up?"
"I've got to go. Wire from Miss Wilbur."
"Aha," said Kelly, following Philip's long strides to the express wagon
which Blake was just mounting.
"No, no, no," returned Philip. "Naught personal. No such luck. Hello,
Matt, going up-along?"
"Yes."
"See you later, Kelly, I have to go up to Miss Burridge's." And Philip
jumped into the seat beside the driver.
"No, you guessed wrong. You're going to see me right along," returned
Barney, hopping up on the tail of the wagon and letting his feet hang
over, while he whistled cheerily.