THE HEIR
Luther Wrenn gave himself the luxury of calling at the Copley-Plaza the
next morning, perhaps as a bracer for his afternoon appointment. When he
sent up his name, he received a summons to come to a room on the floor
above Diana's.
Entering, he found the group he had left yesterday, minus Mrs. Wilbur,
chatting and laughing before a boy's wardrobe spread out on the bed. As
he shook hands with the boy himself, the lawyer looked him over with
satisfaction. From the barber to the haberdasher, the lad had evidently
been served well; and though pale and thin, Herbert Loring, Second,
stood there a credit to his name already, and full of promise for the
future. A wardrobe trunk in steamer size stood at one side of the room
and a fine suitcase beside it.
"Is everything all right, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn, with a hand on the
boy's shoulder and his eyes wandering over the variety of apparel laid
out on the bed. "Nothing seems to be missing."
"I have--I have blue pyjamas," said the boy.
"And did they sleep all right, eh?"
"They did not," said Philip. "I had the other room opening off Bert's
bath and I prowled once in a while to see how the land lay, and the
electric light was evidently too easy. He was always examining his box."
"What box is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn.
The boy was keeping lifted eyes on him, not quite sure whether this
dispenser of gifts was going to be displeased at the burning of midnight
electricity. At the question he hurried to a table and brought the new
sketching materials which had interfered with his dreams.
Mr. Wrenn gave the boy's shoulder a little shake and laughed. "They
won't run away in the night," he said. "Better sleep and keep your eyes
bright. When do you plan to return to the island, Mrs. Lowell?"
She was sitting with Diana by the bed, where they were sewing markers on
Bert's new possessions. "If your afternoon interview proves
satisfactory, and you can arrange that we shall not be molested, I think
we might go to-morrow," she replied.
"Want to go back to the island, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn. The appealing
eyes, so like Helen Loring's, were winning him more and more with their
trustfulness.
"I--I don't care where we go if he--if nobody takes me away from--from
Mrs. Lowell."
"You dear youngster," said that lady, her swift needle stitching busily.
"Well, it is my intention that nobody shall, for the present. Of course,
when these charming ladies hamper themselves with husbands, it brings in
an element of uncertainty. What sort of a man is Monroe Lowell, now? I
suppose his wife is entirely impartial."
Mrs. Lowell laughed. "The finest ever," she said, "but I see signs of
impatience beginning to show in his letters. So I hope he will soon join
us. Probably I know what you are thinking of, Mr. Wrenn, but let us not
cross any bridges until we come to them. The right way is sure to open."
The lawyer nodded. "I will let you have a bulletin as soon as the final
farewells are said this afternoon. I hope to secure the island from
further intrusion."
Diana looked up from her work. "Would it not be well to offer him money
not to return?"
Philip, who was engaged in snipping the markers apart, spoke: "If he
comes, I can take the bone of contention to my place until the hurricane
is passed."
"I am quite certain he will not go," said Mrs. Lowell quietly.
"Why is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn. "I must confess to some qualms myself."
"Because it is not right for him to go," said Mrs. Lowell.
"My dear young lady," the lawyer smiled, "if that is the only ground for
your belief, my limited observation of the gentleman suggests that he
never has done anything right in his life unless by accident. But no
money, Miss Diana. Start that once with that individual and you will be
purchasing something from him at intervals the rest of his life. I must
be off. Good-bye, Herbert."
The boy started. He had been hanging over his treasures and handling
them, oblivious to everything around him. This gentleman, who knew his
mother and had showered upon him so many benefits, was looking at him
now with kind, serious eyes, and Bert became mindful of a little talk
Mrs. Lowell had had with him this morning.
He walked up to the lawyer and held out his slender hand. "I thank
you--sir," he said.
"Good boy. I will see you again before you leave," and, bowing to the
others, Mr. Wrenn went out, Philip accompanying him to the elevator.
"Thank you, Mr. Barrison, for your good offices," he said as they shook
hands.
"Never had so much fun in my life," said Philip. "Made me wish I had
half a dozen of my own and the coin to treat them like that."
The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon him and smiled. "Are events shaping
themselves toward that end? That extremely charming young woman who has
been making you the slave of the lamp is enough to turn any man's head."
Philip flushed. "Any man's head _would_ be turned," he responded
quickly, "if he thought of her as approachable. No, some common mortal
for me some day, I hope, but she's a goddess, you know."
The young fellow smiled and the lawyer still regarded him, and placed a
hand on his shoulder.
"Never let anything like money rob you," he said slowly and with
emphasis. "Goddesses have been known to stoop to mortals before this."
"I think her parents would see to that," responded Philip, laughing.
The elevator came, and with one more nod of farewell the lawyer
disappeared.
"Fierce job he's got before him," muttered Philip as he returned to the
dry goods, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on his new friend's
surpassingly ignorant suggestions.
Promptly at the appointed time Nicholas Gayne presented himself at the
lawyer's office and was admitted to the sanctum. His air of assurance
almost reached the swaggering stage, and his "How are you?" breathed a
suggestion of a fortifying beverage. Without waiting for permission, he
fell into the chair near the desk.
"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked triumphantly.
"Yes, I am satisfied that the boy is my old friend's grandson."
"I knew you would be. Now, how soon do you think you can fix it up?"
"Fix what up?"
"The inheritance."
"I told you the boy was not mentioned in the will."
"I know that, but what's the law for if it can't get justice done?" came
the impatient question, and Gayne's chin shot out belligerently.
"It can and will get justice done," said Luther Wrenn slowly, "but it
will take time."
"Oh, of course, I know it will, but you can advance money on a sure
thing, and I'll make it worth your while as soon as the cash is in my
hands."
"In yours?" The lawyer tapped his desk with a paper-cutter.
"Yes. I told you the boy's delicate. He needs care."
"I'm sure he does. It may take a year to straighten out the matter of
the will."
"It don't need to," said Gayne angrily. "I've had the expense of Bert
for five years and I ought to be reimbursed and provided with enough
money to care for him right, until he gets all that's coming to him."
Luther Wrenn looked for a silent minute at the dark, impatient face and
thick, powerful shoulders and hands, and recalled the boy's panic.
"I have obtained a good deal of information as to the occurrences of the
past years as they affect Mr. Loring's grandson," he said quietly, and
his visitor scowled at him, startled.
"I'm a poor man," he blustered. "I told you I hadn't been able to care
for him right."
"If you would like," went on the lawyer slowly, "to be relieved of the
boy, I am willing to take charge of him from now on for his mother's
sake."
"For his mother's sake," sneered Gayne. "You know damned well that it's
because you know you can get hold of the money that ought to be his."
"You have been drinking, Mr. Gayne, and the reason I don't have you put
out of the office is because we shall never meet again, and it is always
well to settle matters out of court if possible. I am going to tell you,
instead of asking a judge to do so, why I am taking Helen Loring's boy
away from you."
"Lambert Gayne's boy and my nephew!" roared Gayne. "Where do you get
that stuff? Take him away from me, after all the expense--"
"Be quiet, Mr. Gayne, or I shall have to forego my peaceful plans. I
have a man outside prepared to take you; so it would be better for you
to listen to me."
Nicholas Gayne looked behind him in angry amazement.
"What have you done for that helpless boy?" went on Wrenn quietly.
"Have you endeavored to have him properly taught and cared for? Have you
allowed him the happiness, which would have cost you nothing, of
exercising the talent inherited from his mother?"
"I'm a poor man,"--the declaration came with a loud burst. "He couldn't
spend his time like a nabob."
"No. So you took no pains to have him educated. You allowed him to be
made to scrub floors and wash windows and do any menial work which a
lazy, dissolute woman could put upon him. You allowed a creature like
Cora to be his companion, caring less than nothing for the possible
degradation of the boy's mind and body."
Nicholas Gayne started up from his chair, purple in the face with
surprise and fury.
"All this you did with the one single base intention of so beating down
any sign of mental efficiency in your nephew that in time you could get
the handling of his heritage."
As the words fell clearly and concisely from the lawyer's lips, Nicholas
Gayne's muddled brain worked fast. Where could this devil of a lawyer
have learned so much in two days? The boy was at the island. It must be
the women. That Mrs. Lowell! But how could she have connected Bert with
Herbert Loring in the first place, and how could she, with her slight
opportunity, have elicited so much from the dull boy and communicated
with Luther Wrenn? Gayne wished his brain were clearer, but, looking at
the stony calm of the lawyer's face and the cold accusation in his eyes,
he realized that the combination of legal power and money made it very
hard in instances like this for a poor man like himself to get his
rights.
"Now, I will detain you only a minute longer, Mr. Gayne. Herbert Loring,
Second, as he will after this be called, is now at the Copley-Plaza with
friends." Gayne stared and seized the back of the chair from which he
had risen, apparently for support. "I shall provide for him as I think
best. It is too early as yet to tell whether your criminal treatment of
the child has worked permanent injury. Time and the tenderest, wisest
care will be necessary to establish that, and, meanwhile, you will be
left in freedom. We desire to avoid all publicity, and, if you keep out
of the way and do not intrude and awaken in the boy brutal and sad
associations, we may succeed in restoring him to a normal condition,
but, I assure you, if you even show your face near the boy or interfere
in any degree, you will be called upon to answer serious charges, and
witnesses will be easy to procure."
The purple had faded from Nicholas Gayne's face and it was ashy under
the sunburn. He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came. Mr. Wrenn
touched a button on his desk and the office door opened. Gayne started
and looked toward it.
"I feel that we understand each other perfectly, Mr. Gayne," said the
lawyer, pleasantly. "Good-afternoon."
Nicholas Gayne mumbled something and, moving as swiftly as his unsteady
knees would permit, he disappeared from that office, fear engulfing all
his other emotions. He wondered which of the men in plain clothes, whom
he saw moving about outside, was the one who might have been his escort.
Luther Wrenn took up the telephone and called Diana.
"Mr. Wrenn speaking."
An excited voice answered, all serenity thrown to the winds. "Oh, Mr.
Wrenn, is it over?"
"Yes, Miss Diana, and very satisfactorily. I'm a little tired and I
believe I won't make you another call to-day."
"I'm _sure_ you must be tired," sympathetically.
"I just wanted you and Mrs. Lowell to know that you may plan to take the
nine o'clock train for Portland to-morrow morning with as much freedom
as if our precious uncle had passed away from the planet."
"Thank you, thank you."
"And, by the way, Miss Diana, you may tell Mr. Barrison, too."
"Oh, of course, I should."
"Do you know, I find him a very engaging young man. Why, why are your
cheeks blooming so? Can't one say as much as that for relaxation after a
nasty quarter of an hour?"
A soft gurgle of laughter went to the listening lawyer.
"I did not know you ever condescended to such play, Mr. Wrenn."
"Well, don't tell, will you? My best wishes to you all, and especially
to Herbert, and tell him I shall come to the island to look him over in
a short time."
"Do. Mr. Barrison will take you fishing."
"Is he always successful? Does he know just what bait to use?"
Another soft gurgle. "You don't understand, Mr. Wrenn. He uses too much
bait. He catches too many fish. Good-bye. My mother has just come in.
She is going with us to Maine." A pause. "She hopes to see you there.
Good-bye."
Before the arrival of the Copley-Plaza contingent at the island, Matt
Blake received the following letter:
_Dear Matt_:
You know the business that brought me to Boston. I proved my
position all right. The old man's lawyer couldn't deny it, but the
boy, not being named in the will, as, of course, I knew he wouldn't
be, the lawyer said it would take a long time before he could get
anything for Bert, and advised me to put the boy into his hands. So
I'm going to let him run matters to suit himself.
I'm asking you if you will be good enough to pack up my stuff at
the island and send everything on C.O.D. to the address on the card
I enclose. You know what I found at the farm, but I've got to wait
till I can get some backing before I can do anything about it. Keep
it under your hat, though. You know what I left at the farm, too:
out in the kitchen. Take that for your trouble. I don't know what
I'm going to do next. What I do know is that a lawyer has no more
blood than a turnip, and that a man can go to the expense and
trouble of taking care of a boy for five years and then be asked to
hand him over to those that know he'll have money, without even a
thank you for all he has done. I'm disgusted with the world.
Your friend,
NICHOLAS GAYNE
When he read this, Matt Blake looked off thoughtfully, his thin lips
twitching.
"I hope Phil Barrison can tell me all that's between those lines," he
thought.