Adelle was distinctly roused by her return to America and all the
memories awakened at the sight of familiar streets, the home of the
Washington Trust Company, and the probate court whither she was obliged
to go. Judge Orcutt was still sitting on the bench and seemed to her to
be exactly as she remembered him, only grayer and a little more bent
over his high bench. He was still that courteous, slightly distant
gentleman from another age, whose mind behind the dreamy eyes seemed
eternally occupied with larger matters than the administration and
disposal of human property. He remembered Adelle, or professed to, and
gave her a kindly old man's smile when he shook hands with her, in spite
of all the _reclame_ of her indecorous return to her native land. He
said nothing of that, however, but refreshed his memory by consulting a
little book where he entered all sorts of curious items not strictly
legal that occurred to him in connection with important cases. From
these pages he easily revived all the details of Adelle, her aunt, and
the now famous Clark's Field.
Looking up from his book, he scrutinized with unusual interest the young
woman who had come before him after an absence of seven years. He was
reflecting, perhaps, that, although she was unaware of the fact, he had
played the part to her in an important crisis of a wise and beneficent
Providence. In all likelihood he had preserved for her the chance of
possessing the large fortune which she was about to receive with his
approval from the Washington Trust Company. No wonder that he looked
keenly at the young woman standing before him! What was she now? What
had she done with herself these seven crucial years of her life to
prepare herself for her good fortune and justify his care of her
interests? How had the enjoyment of ease and the expectation of coming
wealth, with all its opening of gates and widening of horizons, affected
little Adelle Clark--the insignificant drudge from the Alton
rooming-house?...
Judge Orcutt no longer published thin volumes of poetry. The bar said
that he was now devoting himself more seriously to his profession. The
truth was, perhaps, that in face of his accumulating knowledge of life
and human beings, he no longer had the incentive to write lyrics. The
poetry, however, was there ineradicably in his soul, affecting his
judgments,--the lawyers still called him "cranky" or "erratic,"--and
giving even to routine judicial acts a significance and dignity little
suspected by the careless practitioners in his court.... And so this
elderly gentleman, for he had crossed the sixty mark by now, recalled
the timid, pale-faced, undersized girl, with her "common" aunt, who
seven years before had appeared in his court and to whom he had been the
instrument of giving riches. What had she done with the golden spoon he
had thrust into her mouth and what would she do with it now? Ah, that
was always the question with these inheritances which he was called upon
to administer according to the complicated rules of law--and the law
books afforded no answer to such questions!...
"My dear," he said, with one of his beautiful smiles that seemed to
irradiate the "case" before him with its personal kindliness and
sympathy, "so you have been living in Europe the last few years and are
now married?"
Adelle said "yes" to both questions, while the trust officer who had
accompanied her to court--not our Mr. Ashly Crane--fussed inwardly
because he saw that Judge Orcutt was in one of his "wandering" and
leisurely moods, and might detain them to discourse upon Europe or
anything that happened into his mind before signing the necessary order.
But after this introduction, the judge was silent, while his smile still
lingered in the gaze he directed to the young woman before him.
Adelle, as has been amply admitted in these pages, was neither beautiful
nor compelling. But she was very different indeed from the small, shabby
girl of fourteen. She was taller, with a well-trained figure that showed
the efforts of all the deft maids and skillful dressmakers through which
it had passed. She was dressed in the very height of the prevailing
fashions--a high-water mark of eccentricity that Judge Orcutt rarely
encountered in the staid circles of the good city of B----. Her skirt
was slit so as to accentuate all there was of hips, and the bodice did
the same for the bust. And the hat--well, even in New York its long
aigrette and daring folds had caused women to look around in the
streets. She carried in one hand a large bunch of mauve orchids and wore
an abundance of chains and coarse, bizarre jewelry. Her face was still
pale, and the gray eyes were almost as empty of expression as they had
been seven years before. But altogether Adelle was _chic_ and modern, as
she felt with satisfaction, of a type that might find more approval in
Paris than in America, where a pretty face and fresh coloring still win
distinction. She was _new_ all over from head to foot, of a loud, hard
newness that gave the impression of impertinence, even defiance.
This was accentuated by Adelle's new manner--the one that had grown upon
her ever since her elopement. Then she had taken a great step in
defiance of authority, and to support her self-assertion she had put on
this defiant manner, of conscious indifference to expected criticism. It
was the note of her period, moreover, to flaunt independence, to push
things to extremes. Needless to say that in Adelle's case it had been
further emphasized by the episode with the customs officers. Here again
she had defied recognized authorities and got into trouble over it;
indeed, had become mildly notorious in the newspapers. The only way she
could carry off her mistake and her notoriety was, like a child, by
exaggerating her nonchalance. Thus she had met President West and the
other officers of the trust company. Alone--for as usual Archie had
evaded the disagreeable--she had met them in their temple and felt their
frigid disapprobation of her and all her ways. She had carried it off by
forcing her note, "throwing it into the old boy," as she described it to
Archie, with all the loud clothes, the loud manners she had at her
command, and she knew that she had succeeded in making a very bad
impression upon the trust company's president. She felt that she did not
care--he was nothing to her.
In the same defiant mood and with the same "war-paint" she had entered
Judge Orcutt's court and answered his preliminary questions. But she
felt ill at ease, rather miserable under his kindly, heart-searching
gaze. She wished that she hadn't: she wanted to blush and drop her eyes.
Instead she returned his look out of her still, gray eyes with a
fascinated stare.
At last the smile faded from the judge's lips, and he withdrew his gaze
from the bizarre figure before him. He asked in a brisker tone with
several shades less of personal interest,--
"Your husband is with you?"
"No," she stammered uncomfortably, realizing that Archie was again
evading.
He was outside lolling in the motor that they had hired by the day,
fooling with Adelle's lapdog and getting through the time as best he
could. Adelle so informed the judge, who received the news with a slight
frown and proceeded to the business before them. The trust officer
thought that now matters would be expedited, but the judge disappointed
him. After taking his pen to sign the papers, he kept his hand upon
them, and clearing his throat addressed Adelle.
"Mrs. Davis," he began in formal tones, "you first came into my court
seven years ago, with your aunt, at the time of your uncle's death--you
remember, doubtless?"
Adelle said "yes" faintly.
"As your mother's only heir, and owing to the death of your aunt the
following year who left you her sole heir, you became vested with all
the known interest in certain valuable real estate that had belonged to
your ancestors for many generations--what was known then as 'Clark's
Field.' As you are probably aware, this property, after many years of
disuse and much litigation, has finally been cleared as to title and put
upon the market. It has been sold, or much of it, for large prices. For
in all these years its value has very greatly increased--ten and
twentyfold."
He paused for a moment, then with an unaccustomed sternness he
resumed,--
"Clark's Field is no longer the pasture land of an outlying farm. In the
course of all these years the city has grown up to it and around it.
Generations of men have been born, come into activity, and died,
increasing in numbers all the time, demanding more and more room for
homes and places of business. Thus the value of real estate has greatly
risen, latterly doubling and trebling almost each year."
He stopped again, and the bored trust officer thought, "The old fellow
is worse than ever to-day--getting positively dotty--likes to hear
himself talk...."
"For thus," resumed the judge slowly, impressively, "is the nature of
man, of the civilization he has created. Men must have room--land to
grow upon; and that which was of little or no value becomes by the
economic accidents of life of exceedingly great importance because of
its necessity to the race.... Your forefathers, Mrs. Davis, got their
own living from the farm of which this piece of land--Clark's Field--was
a part; a meager living for themselves and their families they got by
tilling the poor soil. They were content with taking a living out of it
for themselves and their families. Indeed, if I am not mistaken, your
own grandfather was anxious to sell this same field, which was all that
was left to him of the ancestral farm, for a comparatively small sum of
ready money--five thousand dollars."
Adelle had time to reflect that this was the exact sum on which she and
Archie had tried to live for a year, with considerable inconvenience.
But then everybody said times had changed, and you couldn't do now with
a thousand dollars what you could once.
"Fortunately for you, Mrs. Davis," the judge was saying with a dry
little smile, "your grandfather was unable to carry out his intention of
disposing of Clark's Field for five thousand dollars. Nor were your
mother and her brother--his children--more successful in selling their
ancestral estate, although I believe they made many attempts to do so.
There were legal obstructions in the way, of which doubtless you have
heard. But at the very close of your uncle's life he had entered into an
agreement with some real estate speculators to dispose of his equity in
the property and of yours also--you being his ward--for twenty-five
thousand dollars--I believe that was the sum."
Judge Orcutt put on his glasses and consulted his little book, laid the
glasses down, and repeated reflectively,--
"Yes, for twenty-five thousand dollars! And he had so far carried out
his intention that had he lived but a few weeks longer there would not
have remained a foot of Clark's Field belonging now to any of the Clark
family."
Poor uncle! Adelle thought. He was very little good in the world.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars, Mrs. Davis, is a considerable sum of
money, but it is a small mess of pottage compared with what awaits you
in the hands of the Washington Trust Company. Let me see how much the
estate amounts to now!"
Hereupon the trust officer handed to the judge an inventory of the
estate, which the judge ran over through his glasses, muttering the
items,--"Stocks, bonds, mortgages, interest in the Clark's Field
Associates," etc.
At last he laid the paper aside, and looking up announced in grave
tones,--
"It comes very near being five millions of dollars."
Adelle had already been told the figures by the trust company, but in
the mouth of the probate judge the sum took on a new solemnity.
"Five millions of dollars," he repeated slowly. "Even in our day of
large accumulations, that is a very considerable sum of money, Mrs.
Davis. It is just one thousand times more than the amount your
grandfather hoped to derive from the same piece of property."
The trust officer smiled, and thrusting his hands deep into his
trousers' pockets gazed at the ceiling. Of course five millions was a
lot of cash, but the judge seemed to forget the hour in which they were,
when everyday transactions involved millions. The young woman, who had
expensive tastes, would not find the income of five millions such a huge
fortune to spend. She didn't look as if she would have any trouble in
spending it, nor the red-headed chap she had married. Still a
comfortable little fortune, all in "gilt-edge stuff"....
"Your estate represents an increment in value of one thousand per cent
in--let me see--a little over forty-five years, less than fifty years,
less than a lifetime, less than my own lifetime!"
Here the judge seemed to come to a dead stop, forgetting himself in
reverie. But rousing himself suddenly he asked Adelle,--
"Have you ever seen Clark's Field?"
Adelle thought she remembered being taken there as a young girl by her
aunt.
"I mean have you been there recently, since it has been subdivided and
brought into human use?"
No, she had not been in Alton since her return to America, in fact not
for seven years.
"Then, Mrs. Davis," the judge said very earnestly, almost sternly, "I
most strongly advise you to go there at once and see what has happened
to your grandfather's old pasture. Look at the source of your wealth! It
must interest you deeply, I should think! The changes that you will find
in Clark's Field are very great, the spiritual changes even greater than
the physical ones, perhaps. Go to Clark's Field, by all means, before
you leave the city. Go at once! And take your husband with you.... And
now, Mr. Niver," he said to the astonished trust officer, "if you have
all the papers--yes, I have examined the inventory of the estate
sufficiently. Mr. Smith brought it to me some time ago...."
There followed certain legal exchanges between the court and the trust
officer, while Adelle thought over what the judge had said to her about
Clark's Field and felt rather queer, uncomfortably so, as if the probate
judge had distilled a subtle medicine in her cup of joy, or had clouded
the clear horizon of her young life with a mysterious veil of
unintelligible considerations. Yet he seemed to be, as she had always
thought him, a good old man, and wise. And he was making no trouble
about giving her and Archie the money they so much wanted to have. Even
now he was writing his signature with the old-fashioned steel pen he
used, a clear, beautiful signature, upon several documents. As he
finished the last one, he glanced up at her and with another of his fine
smiles, as if he wished to reassure her after his little sermon, said to
Adelle,--
"Now, Mrs. Davis, it is yours,--your own property, to do with as you
will. You are no longer a ward of my court!"
He rose from his judge's chair and took her hand, which he held a trifle
longer than necessary, smiling down upon the woman-girl, his lips
apparently forming themselves for another little speech, but he did not
utter it. Instead, he dropped Adelle's hand and with a nod of dismissal
turned into his chambers. So Adelle left the probate court, as she
thought for the last time, wondering what the judge wanted to say to
her, but had refrained from speaking.
It would be interesting to know, also, what were the entries that Judge
Orcutt made in his little note-book upon this, his final official act in
the Clark's Field drama. But that we have no means of discovering. All
legal requirements had been duly fulfilled, and everything else must
remain within the judge's breast for his own spiritual nourishment--and
for Adelle's if she could divine what he meant.