MR. CUTLER’S VISITOR
“Well, Tom,” asked Mr. Keen, the next morning, “did you deliver the
papers?”
“Yes, sir, and Mr. Norris said he would call on you this afternoon.”
“Very good; I’ll be here. Now get me the surrogate’s office, in the
court house.”
Tom had on a small card, the numbers of the places most frequently
called up by the members of the firm, in order to save the time of
looking in the telephone book, and he soon had the connection for Mr.
Keen.
As our hero was going home that afternoon Mr. Keen gave him a message
to deliver to a client who lived in the suburbs, across the Charles
River.
“It is quite important,” said the lawyer, “or I would not ask you to
spend your own time delivering it.”
“I don’t mind,” replied Tom.
“Well, I am sure I appreciate that. Since you are so good-natured
about it I think I will ask you to do a little more. This concerns a
suit which is to be tried to-morrow. I must have an answer from this
gentleman, and he has no telephone. Will you go out there, and bring
back the answer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring it here to the office,” went on Mr. Keen. “I am going to work
here quite late, to-night, and, if I should not be in when you get
here, leave the answer on my desk, for I may be out to supper.”
“I think I can be back here by eight, or, at the most, nine o’clock,”
spoke Tom.
“That will do very nicely. I expect to be up until nearly midnight,
getting the papers in shape for the trial to-morrow. You had better
start now, as it is quite a ride out there.”
With a bundle of papers in his pocket Tom started off. He had sent word
to his mother, by telephoning to a drug store near his house, that he
would not be home until late.
Tom rather enjoyed the trolley ride, for it was in a section he had
seldom visited.
“I hope I find a restaurant out here,” he remarked to himself as the
trolley rumbled along. “I’ll be mighty hungry by the time I get back.”
When he reached the house of the gentleman he had been sent to see, he
delivered the papers, and asked:
“How long do you think it will be before you have the answer ready?”
“Why? Do you have to go somewhere else in this neighborhood?” asked the
client.
“I would like to go to a restaurant,” replied Tom. “Is there one near
here?”
“I’m afraid not, but I’d be glad to have you come in and take tea with
me.”
“Oh, no; I wouldn’t like to trouble you.”
“It will be no trouble at all. I am all alone this evening, as my wife
and daughters have gone to Symphony Hall to a concert. Come in, for
it will take me some time to look over these papers, and prepare my
answer.”
Tom was too hungry to be bashful, and he was soon seated at a table
bountifully spread, while a neatly-dressed servant brought him a hot
cup of tea, which was grateful after the long cold ride.
The gentleman was so busily engaged with the legal documents that he
did not get a chance to eat with Tom, who was all alone at the table,
which the boy did not regret, as his appetite was particularly good,
and he did not want to feel embarrassed by dining with a stranger.
“There, I think that covers it,” said the gentleman at length, as he
handed Tom a bundle of papers. “Tell Mr. Keen I will see him at court,
in the morning. Did you manage to make out a meal?”
“Yes, sir, and I thank you very much.”
It was nearly nine o’clock when Tom reached the office of the law firm
in Washington Street. He went up to the big front doors and he did not
have to knock, as Mr. Keen had told him to do, as the watchman was on
the lookout for him.
“Is it cold out,” asked the old man, who had charge of the building
nights.
“It’s getting colder,” remarked Tom. “Feels like snow, too.”
“I don’t like that,” complained the watchman. “It’s bad for my
rheumatism. I don’t suppose that bothers you.”
“Not yet,” said Tom with a laugh, as he prepared to climb the stairs to
Mr. Keen’s office, the elevator having stopped running.
He found a light burning in the outer room, where the telephone
switchboard was, but Mr. Keen’s apartment was in darkness.
“He must be out,” thought Tom. “Well, I’ll leave the papers on his
desk. But there’s a light in Mr. Cutler’s office. Maybe he’s in there.”
He started toward the door, but, before he could reach it the portal
opened, and Mr. Cutler came out.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Tom sharply. “You have no right in
here after office hours.”
“I have been on an errand for Mr. Keen,” replied Tom. “He told me to
leave the answer on his desk.”
As he spoke he heard a noise of papers rattling in Mr. Cutler’s room,
and he knew the lawyer must have a visitor. Mr. Cutler’s manner was
strange. He seemed much annoyed at beholding Tom.
“Well,” he said, “leave the papers and then go home. We don’t want the
office boys around here after hours.”
He turned to go back into his office, and, as he did so, the door swung
more fully open. Tom caught a glimpse of a man, and, an instant later
he saw that Mr. Cutler’s visitor was none other than Barton Sandow. Dr.
Spidderkins’ brother-in-law uttered an exclamation, as he caught sight
of Tom, and then the lawyer hastily closed the door, from behind which
came the murmur of voices in eager, earnest conversation.
“He’ll never suspect anything,” he heard Mr. Cutler say.
“Hush!” cautioned Mr. Sandow. “He’s altogether too smart!”
“I hope I can prove too smart for you,” thought Tom, as he laid the
papers on Mr. Keen’s desk. “There’s some funny business going on in
this office and I think it has to do with the doctor. I’ll keep my eyes
open.”