AN INIQUITOUS SCHEME.
"Too slow—too slow. I must go up faster. Harker gets the lion's share
of reputation and profit. It is time there was some new arrangement."
Dunbar was alone, and walking uneasily about. Five years had passed
since his co-partnership with Mr. Harker, and still his interest in the
business was only a fifth, although by his efforts he had increased the
practice of the office. True, he had accumulated about ten thousand
dollars, which he was using in a way that netted him from fifteen to
twenty per cent annually.
In the meantime, the sisters had married honest and industrious
mechanics, and for thus degrading him had been virtually disowned. He
never even paid them the compliment of a visit, and if he met them by
chance, treated them with chilling formality. Old Mr. Dunbar still kept
his grocery, but the expense of sustaining his son for so many years
had sapped the foundation of his business, and he now found himself
involved in debts which he saw no hope of paying. Still he struggled
on, without assistance or sympathy from his unnatural child, who,
by the diversion of a thousand or two dollars from his own selfish
projects, might have relieved his parent from a burden under which he
felt himself sinking.
For some time he had been dissatisfied with the share of profit he
obtained in the business of the office. Harker, who felt a pride in his
old student, had taken pains, from the first, to push Dunbar forward
in all important cases; and by this means gave him a prominence which,
alone, he would not have gained for twenty years. This great advantage,
with a fifth of the profits of the business, he had considered ample
remuneration. His own expenses were very large; for both himself and
family were expensive in their habits. While Dunbar, upon one-fifth
of the practice, was saving at least two thousand dollars a year, he
usually spent all he made, and was, in fact, notwithstanding an income
of over ten thousand dollars per annum, a poor man.
"I think I can stand alone," Dunbar continued, uttering his thoughts
aloud as he walked the floor of his office. "There are at least half a
dozen of our clients of whom I am sure, and out of them, if I manage it
right, I can get at least as much as the whole of my present income."
While thus meditating, a stranger entered, and asked if either Mr.
Harker or Mr. Dunbar was in.
"My name is Dunbar," said the young attorney, bowing.
"Ah! Then you are the one I wish to see. I have a claim against a
distant relative, involving a large amount of property, out of which I
have for a long time been unjustly held, and for the recovery of which
I have determined to appeal to the law. The terms I have to propose to
counsel are a fee of ten thousand dollars if successful, and nothing if
unsuccessful."
Dunbar made careful inquiries as to the nature of the claim, and took
two or three days for examination into its foundation and the law
bearing upon it. He was satisfied from this investigation that the
claim was, to some extent, founded in justice; and there were strong
points in the case, which gave hope of a successful issue.
In the course of his conference with the individual who wished to
prosecute this claim, Dunbar found that he put much more confidence
in his ability than he did in that of Mr. Harker, and once or twice
inquired whether Mr. Harker would object to any legal advantage that it
might be found necessary to take. A few days' reflection decided the
mind of Dunbar, and he said to his client, whose name was Malcolm,—
"I have been for some time meditating a separation from Harker, and
have, at length, determined upon taking that step. If you will defer
the opening of this suit for a couple of months, I will be ready to
undertake it myself, and prosecute it with undivided energy."
"Nothing could be more agreeable," returned Malcolm. "I will defer
the matter as you suggest." And so it was deferred until Dunbar could
arrange and settle all that appertained to his contemplated dissolution
with his old preceptor, who received his proposition with astonishment.
Nothing that Harker could say had any effect upon Dunbar. His mind was
fully made up for a separation, and it took place accordingly.
From all that appears, this was an unwise act for Dunbar; but he had
thoughts and intentions in regard to the new case expressed to none.
What these were will appear in the end.
As soon as the young attorney launched from the shore in his own boat,
he took up the important case that had been offered him, and made a
vigorous demonstration upon the party in possession of the property to
be litigated. Of course there was a defence, which was intrusted, as he
had shrewdly anticipated from his knowledge of the party concerned, to
an attorney of tact and shrewdness, with principles just about as pure
as his own. The two legal gentlemen entered into close conference from
the first, though, to all appearances, they were almost as hostile as
their respective clients.
Before commencing a suit, Malcolm, who had a small business, by means
of which he was barely able to support his family, had made sundry
efforts to compromise his claim. He had even offered to take a sum as
small as twenty-five thousand dollars, although the amount in dispute
was over a hundred thousand. But all such overtures were rejected.
No sooner, however, was the suit commenced, and the terms upon which
Dunbar had undertaken its prosecution known, than an offer was made to
Malcolm to settle the matter by paying him the sum he had previously
demanded. This fact he immediately communicated to his lawyer, and
asked if he had not better accept the proposition.
"Accept it?" returned Dunbar, with well-assumed surprise. "No! Nor
double the amount. Your case is as clear as noon-day. I have already
stated it to two of our judges, and they agree with me that you have
everything on your side. The very fact that an offer to compromise has
been made, shows that the defendant's counsel has been acute enough to
see the weak points of his case, and to advise the course that has been
taken. He's as timid as a hare, at any rate; and a mere old woman at
the bar. I am astonished at his being employed in a case involving so
much."
Thus assured, Malcolm declined the offer.
That evening the plaintiff's and defendant's lawyers met at the office
of the former.
"Have you seen Malcolm?" was the first question asked.
"Yes," replied Dunbar. "He was here this morning."
"And wanted to settle the matter, I suppose."
"Oh, yes. He was warm for it at first, but I soon satisfied him that
it would be folly to do so. I suppose you might induce your client to
offer thirty or forty thousand dollars in order to get a clear title to
his remaining property."
"Yes, I think that might be done. It will be easy for me to show him
that the chances are two to one against him, if he permits the suit to
go on."
"The easiest thing in the world. When do you see your client?"
"T shall see him early to-morrow."
"You think, then, that we might get something like thirty thousand
dollars out of him?"
"Yes. But it will not do to let the matter be settled before some heavy
costs are made to accrue, which Malcolm will have to pay off before he
can begin de novo, after I throw you out on a demurrer, and which, of
course, he will not be able to settle."
"That is all understood, of course. What I don't like in this matter,
is being thrown out of the case on a demurrer, a circumstance that is
never creditable to a lawyer. I may gain fifteen or twenty thousand
dollars, but will not my reputation as an acute lawyer suffer too
severely? I sometimes think it will."
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A chance like this does
not occur every day."
"I am well aware of that."
"Money is power, you know. Money is reputation—money is everything.
With plenty of money you may set the world at defiance."
"But I don't call fifteen or twenty thousand dollars plenty of money."
"Though a very important sum in the process of accumulation."
"Yes, there is no doubt of that. I think," Dunbar added, after
reflecting for some moments, "that some less apparent defect might be
substituted for the one I have admitted, and which would not reflect so
strongly upon my want of legal acumen."
"And by doing so, jeopardize the result."
"I am safe for ten thousand, you know; and I am not sure that I ought
not to be satisfied with that and the reputation success in this case
will give me."
"If you were absolutely certain of success, then what you say has some
force. But, of that, you are by no means sure. We have all the money
on our side, and can oppose you with any required force of counsel;
and even in the case of a decision adverse to our interests, inset all
the costs, and go up with an appeal. You could not settle this matter
in two or three years, if we give you battle in good earnest, as we
certainly shall, and then the result is doubtful. None know better
than you and I how little calculation is to be made on the decision of
Courts."
Dunbar did not reply to this; but sat with his eyes fixed upon the
floor. His companion, after a few moments, resumed—
"My fee in this case is to be five thousand dollars, if successful,
and one thousand if I fail. If I throw you out on the demurrer, and
thus completely kill Malcolm, I will get my five thousand, of course.
I can therefore afford, if we get thirty thousand dollars out of old
Harrison, to let your share be twenty thousand, and take ten myself.
How will that do?"
"It looks rather better, I must confess," said Dunbar; "and it shall
stand so, if you can arrange all upon the terms proposed."
"I will accomplish it without doubt, unless I have mistaken my man."
This settled, the friends in iniquity parted.
Lawrence Dunbar was far from feeling easy in mind about this affair.
Not that he was troubled by anything his conscience ventured to
suggest, for that spoke in such low whispers that the words rarely
arose to an audible murmur. But he was fearful lest he was playing too
high. Two individuals, at least, would know him to be a scoundrel, and
the knowledge of that fact, with indubitable proofs thereof, he did
not think safe in anybody's hands. But the temptation had proved too
strong for him, and he was committed to an extent that made it doubtful
whether to retreat was not more perilous than to advance.
Thus it is that evil blinds her votaries. It is easy to walk in the
plain path of rectitude; but few can tread the devious ways of the
wrong-doer without bewilderment at some point, and doubt whether to go
forward or seek to retrace the steps that have been taken.