_In Which Mr. Chester Downes and I Again “Lock Horns”_
This had not been the home-coming I had looked forward to. I had not
desired to take up the old fight with my uncle, Mr. Chester Downes.
But it seemed as though circumstances were forever opposing us in some
wrangle or other!
We three, with the old Colonel leading, went quietly into the room
where Judge Fetter held his court. Nobody noticed us and Colonel
Playfair motioned Ham and I to seats well back in the room. There
were maybe a score of people on the benches. The lawyers and those
individuals who were pertinently interested in the matters to be
arranged, were allowed inside the rail before the Judge’s desk. Colonel
Playfair went up there and the justice nodded to him. Nobody knew whom
he represented, or in what matter he was interested.
I saw Mr. Chester Downes at once; but my uncle did not see me. He sat
with his back to me, in fact, and beside him was a slim and sleek
looking man with a green bag before him on the table.
“That’s Jim Maxwell,” whispered Ham. “And he’s the kind of a lawyer
that Chester Downes would cotton to, all right. I ain’t got no manner
o’ use for Jim Maxwell. He’s one o’ them landsharks, he is.”
The proceedings droned along for a time. Two matters of probate were
settled before our case came up. Then his clerk handed Judge Fetter
some papers, he put on his nose glasses, glanced at them, and said:
“In the matter of the appointment of Mr. Chester Downed as co-trustee
with Mrs. Mary Webb, Widow--the Darrington Estate. There is a minor
child, I believe? You speak in this matter, Mr. Maxwell?”
“I have the honor to do so,” said the sleek man.
“There is no objection to the appointment, I understand?” pursued the
Judge. “The widow is satisfied?”
“Very much so,” declared the lawyer.
“She is not here present?”
“Ill health, your honor,” said Maxwell, briskly! “But Mr. Downes, who
is her brother-in-law, has been her man of business for years. Mr.
Hounsditch, lately deceased, although appointed under the will, was
merely a figure-head in the affairs of the estate.”
“And this minor child--how old is he?”
“Seventeen.”
“Ah. He has no choice, then? He does not object to his uncle as a
trustee?”
“The boy has run away from home, your honor. He is a little wild----”
began Mr. Maxwell.
I was so enraged that I could not keep my seat; but Ham pulled me back.
“Take it easy, Clint,” he whispered.
“In that case,” the judge mooned along, rustling the papers, “there
being no objection, and Mr. Chester Downes’ bond being entirely
satisfactory----”
Colonel Playfair arose. The Judge looked at him in surprise.
“I beg pardon, Brother Playfair,” he said, politely. “You surely do not
appear in this matter?”
“Yes, your honor, I do,” said the Colonel.
“You represent anybody interested?”
“I most certainly do,” said the Colonel. “I represent the minor child,
Clinton Webb.”
Mr. Chester Downes leaned forward and whispered to his lawyer. The
latter sprang up again.
“I beg Colonel Playfair’s pardon,” Maxwell said. “Does he state that he
has been engaged directly by the boy mentioned to represent him before
this court?”
Colonel Playfair was silent for a moment, and the other lawyer went on:
“For if not, I object. No engagement of an attorney by outside parties
will stand, your honor. We expected some interference by officious
friends of the misguided boy. His mother is his legal guardian, Mr.
Hounsditch being dead----”
“Wait,” said the Judge, patiently. “Colonel Playfair knows the law as
well as any man here,” and he smiled and bowed. “State your position,
sir,” he said to the Colonel.
“I represent the minor, your honor,” he said, quietly. “If it becomes
necessary application will be made for the appointment of both a
guardian as well as co-trustee of the estate, on behalf of Clinton
Webb.”
“But the boy has run away! He is incorrigible,” cried Lawyer Maxwell.
“Brother Maxwell is misinformed,” said the Colonel, suavely, “If he
does not know the truth, his client does. Clinton Webb did not run away
from home. He was blown out to sea in a little sloop from Bolderhead.
It is a matter of record--newspaper record, your honor. He was picked
up by a vessel bound for the South Seas. From that distance he has only
lately been able to get a ship homeward bound.”
Chester Downes was whispering again to his lawyer. The eyes of the
sleek Mr. Maxwell snapped.
“Your honor!” cried he, interrupting Colonel Playfair.
The colonel politely gave way to him. The Judge looked puzzled.
“Your honor! The fact of his having left home in the first place
involuntarily is admitted. But he has refused to return. His mother
sent money for his passage to Buenos Ayres. He supposedly wasted the
money and remained wilfully out of her jurisdiction.”
“Colonel Playfair?” queried the Judge.
“If Brother Maxwell is quite finished,” said the colonel, “I would like
to state our side of the argument.”
“Continue,” said the Judge.
“I am sorry to wash dirty linen in court,” Colonel Playfair said,
quietly. “These family troubles would better be settled outside of
the courtroom. But it seems necessary to place the full facts before
your honor. It is not only a proven fact that Clinton Webb left home
involuntarily; but there was a crime attached to his adventure. He was
nailed into the cabin of his boat and the boat was cut adrift at the
beginning of the September gale, two years ago this coming fall.”
The spectators began to sit up and take notice. The affair was assuming
a serious hue.
“The person who committed this dastardly crime is known--known to
Brother Maxwell’s client. This person, afraid of being arrested for his
deed, actually _did_ run away from home, went to Buenos Ayres, there
represented himself as Clinton Webb and obtained the money sent there
by Mrs. Webb for her son, and is now, I understand, a member of the
crew of the whaling bark, Scarboro, in the South Pacific.
“These final facts are proven by a letter from the American consul at
Buenos Ayres, sent to Mr. Hounsditch, deceased, together with the
amount of money which had been given to the false claimant by a clerk
in the consul’s office. Does Mr. Maxwell wish me to state the name of
the person who committed these criminal acts?”
My uncle’s lawyer was evidently in a fine flurry. He jumped up to say:
“We let the point pass for the present. But we claim that the minor
child, Clinton Webb, has no standing in this court. He is on the high
seas----”
“Wrong, Brother Maxwell,” said the colonel, very sweetly. “He is here.”
I saw Mr. Chester Downes start from his seat. He cried out something,
but the Judge rapped his desk for order.
“You say your client is present in court, Colonel?” he asked.
“Clinton Webb! Come forward!” commanded my lawyer, and that time Ham
did not try to keep me in my seat.
I marched down the aisle. Mr. Chester Downes saw me coming. His dark
face never paled; the blood flooded into it, darkening it until his
cheeks and brow were almost black.
We looked at each other. There was no need for either to threaten the
other. As of old, we were sworn enemies. And I believed that I had
again crossed him in his most precious project.
The colonel let me into the enclosure through the gate.
“You recognize your nephew, do you, Mr. Downes?” asked the Judge.
Chester Downes nodded. He could not speak.
“And I understand that Clinton Webb, here before us, objects to the
appointment of his uncle as co-trustee of the estate?” he asked the
colonel.
“He does,” was the brief reply.
“What is your wish, then, Colonel?” asked Judge Fetter. “This matter,
evidently, is not ready for closing to-day?”
“No, your honor. We ask for a postponement--that is all.”
“Do you agree, Brother Maxwell?” asked the judge.
Maxwell looked at his client. There was nothing else to do but to agree
and Downes knew it as well as the lawyer.
“Oh, yes!” snarled Chester Downes. “We will have to fight, I see.”
He and I had locked horns again; but he would not admit then that he
was worsted.
Colonel Playfair had a few moments’ whispered conversation with Judge
Fetter, and then we went back to the lawyer’s office. Chester Downes
and Maxwell had hastened away from the courthouse. My uncle did not try
to speak to me--and I was glad. I am afraid I could not have controlled
myself just then.
There were some papers to sign and more discussion in Colonel
Playfair’s office. He called in a brother practitioner, Mr. Charles
Ahorn, and the matters were turned over to him. Colonel Playfair
agreed to step into poor Mr. Hounsditch’s shoes, and be my guardian
and co-trustee with my mother, if the other side could come to an
agreement. I believed, when I had talked with my mother, that she would
make no objection.
Crafty as I knew my uncle to be, I could not believe that he had so
succeeded in warping my mother’s judgment that she would believe
everything ill he had said of me. And I counted on her love as a surety.
Much as she might disregard my personal opinion of Chester Downes, I
was sure she would welcome me with open arms!