The following afternoon, Gordon Montcure stepped from the train at
Lynn. An hour before, _en route_, he had received a telegram from
Mason saying that the deal had been made and that his brother was in
possession of the property, and authorizing him to proceed according to
instructions. He was a man of business methods and began at once to play
his part. Calling a carriage, he went to the court-house and ascertained
that the deed had been properly recorded. Then he drove to the hotel of
Barton Woodlas and demanded to see that gentleman at once. He was shown
into a private parlor and in a few minutes the shoe capitalist came
down. He was a short, nervous, fat man with a pompous strut.
"Mr. Woodlas, I presume," said Gordon Mont-cure.
"The same, sir," was the answer; "to what am I indebted for this honor?"
"To be brief," replied Montcure, "I am looking for one Sidney Van
Guilder. I am informed that he was to-day with you in this city. Can you
tell me where I can see him?"
"Why, yes," said the old gentleman, anxiously; "I suppose he is out at
the residence I to-day sold him for his grandfather. Is there anything
wrong?"
"What?" cried Montcure, starting up, "You sold him a residence to-day?
Curse the luck! I am too late. He is evidently into his old tricks."
"Old tricks," said the little fat man, growing pale, "what in Heaven's
name is wrong with him? Speak out, man; speak out!"
"To come at once to the point," said Gordon Montcure, "Mr. Van Guilder
is just a little offcolor. He is shrewd and all right in every way
except for this one peculiarity. He seems to have an insane desire to
purchase fine buildings and convert them into homes for his horses. He
has attempted to change several houses on Fifth Avenue into palatial
stables, and has only been prevented by the city authorities. In all
human probability the house you have sold him will be full of stalls by
morning."
"My house full of stalls!" yelled the little fat man, "my house that
I have spent so much money on, and my beautiful grounds a barn-yard!
Never! never! Come on, sir, come on, we must go there at once!" And
Barton Woodlas waddled out of the room as fast as his short legs could
carry him. Gordon Montcure followed, smiling.
Both men climbed into Montcure's carriage and hurried out to the
suburban residence. The grounds were indeed magnificent, and the house a
palace. As they drove in, they noticed several Italian laborers digging
a trench across the lawn. Barton Woodlas tumbled out of the carriage and
bolted into the house, followed by Montcure. Here they found a scene of
the greatest confusion. The house was filled with grimy workmen. They
were taking off the doors and shutters, and removing the stairway, and
hammering in different portions of the house until the noise was like
bedlam.
Sidney Van Guilder stood in the drawing-room, with his coat off,
directing his workmen. His clothing was disarranged and dusty but he
was apparently enthusiastic and happy. "Stop, sir! stop!" cried Barton
Woodlas, waving his arms and rushing into the room. "Put these dirty
workmen out of here and stop this vandalism at once! At once!"
Sidney Van Guilder turned round smiling. "Ah," he said, "is it you,
Mr. Woodlas? I am getting on swimmingly you see. This will make a
magnificent stable. I can put my horses on both floors, but I will be
compelled to cut the inside all out, and make great changes. It is a
pity that you built your rooms so big."
For a moment the little man was speechless with rage; then he danced
up and down and yelled: "Oh, you crazy fool! You crazy fool! You are
destroying my house! It won't be worth a dollar!"
"I beg your pardon," said Van Guilder, coldly, "this is my house and I
shall do with it as I like. I have bought it and I shall make a home
for my horses of it by morning. It cannot possibly be any business of
yours."
"No business of mine!" shouted Woodlas, "what security have I but the
mortgage? And if you go on with this cursed gutting the mortgage won't
be worth a dollar. Oh, my beautiful house! My beautiful house! It is
awful, awful! Come on, sir," he yelled to Gordon Montcure, "I will find
a way to stop the blooming idiot!"
With that he rushed out of the house and rolled into the carriage,
Gordon Montcure following. Together the two men were driven furiously to
the office of Vinson Harcout, counsellor for the Shoe Trust.
That usually placid and unexcitable gentleman turned round in
astonishment as the two men bolted into his private office. Woodlas
dropped into a chair and, between curses and puffs of exhaustion,
began to describe his trouble. When the lawyer had finally succeeded in
drawing from the irate old man a full understanding of the matter, he
leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Well," he said, "this is an unfortunate state of affairs, but there is
really no legal remedy for it. The title to the property is in Mr. Van
Guilder. He is in possession by due and proper process of law, and he
can do as he pleases, even to the extent of destroying the property
utterly. If he chooses to convert his residence into a stable, he
certainly commits no crime and simply exercises a right which is
legally his own. It is true that you have such equitable interest in
the property that you might be able to stop him by injunction
proceedings--we will try that at any rate."
The attorney stopped and turned to his stenographer. "William," he said,
"ask the clerk if Judge Henderson is in the court-room." The young man
went to the telephone and returned in a moment. "Judge Henderson is not
in the city, sir," he said. "The clerk answers that he went to Boston
early in the day to meet with some judicial committee from New York and
will not return until to-morrow."
The lawyer's face lengthened. "Well," he said, "that is the end of it.
We could not possibly reach him in time to prevent Mr. Van Guilder from
carrying out his intentions."
Gordon Montcure smiled grimly. Mason had promised to inveigle away the
resident judge by means of a bogus telegram, and he had done so.
"Oh!" wailed the little fat man, "is there no law to keep me from being
ruined? Can't I have him arrested, sir?"
"Unfortunately, no," replied the lawyer. "He is committing no crime, he
is simply doing what he has a full legal right to do if he so chooses,
and neither you nor any other man can interfere with him. If you attempt
it, you at once become a violator of the law and proceed at your peril.
You are the victim of a grave wrong, Mr. Woodlas. Your security is being
destroyed and great loss may possibly result. Yet there is absolutely
no remedy except the possible injunction, which, in the absence of
the judge, is no remedy at all. It is an exasperating and unfortunate
position for you, but, as I said, there is nothing to be done."
The face of Barton Woodlas grew white and his jaw dropped. "Gone!" he
muttered, "all gone, five thousand dollars and a stable as security for
forty thousand! It is ruin, ruin!"
"I am indeed sorry," said the cold-blooded attorney, with a feeling of
pity that was unusual, "but there is no remedy, unless perhaps you could
repurchase the property before it is injured."
"Ah," said the little fat man, straightening up in his chair, "I had not
thought of that. I will do it. Come on, both of you," and he hurried to
the carriage without waiting for an answer.
At the residence in question the three men found matters as Barton
Woodlas had last seen them, except that the trench across the lawn was
now half completed and the doors and shutters had all been removed from
the house and piled up on the veranda.
Sidney Van Guilder laughed at their proposition to repurchase. He
assured them that he had long been looking for just this kind of
property, that it suited him perfectly, and that he would not think of
parting with it. The attorney for Wood-las offered two thousand dollars'
advance; then three, then four, but Sidney Van Guilder was immovable.
Finally Gordon Montcure suggested that perhaps the city would not allow
his stable to remain after he had completed it, and advised him to
name some price for the property. Van Guilder seemed to consider this
possibility with some seriousness. He had presumably had this trouble in
New York City, and finally said that he would take ten thousand dollars
for his bargain. Old Barton Woodlas fumed and cursed and ground his
teeth, and damned every citizen of the State of New York from the coast
to the lakes for a thief, a villain, and a robber.
Finally, when the Italians began to cut through the wall of the
drawing-room and the fat old gentleman's grief and rage were fast
approaching apoplexy, the lawyer raised his offer to seven thousand
dollars cash, and Sidney Van Guilder reluctantly accepted it and
dismissed his workmen. The four went at once to the law office of Vinson
Harcout, where the mortgage and notes were cancelled, the money paid,
and the deed prepared, reconveying the property and giving Barton
Woodlas immediate possession.