As Ambrose Rich had found his son again in an Indian boy, so the baron
seemed to have found again his own grandson. As twin elements of a rare
earth are almost inseparable, so are beloved images in a fading mind.
Marvin found the days pleasant enough, there in the flickering shadows
of oak leaves lightly stirred. Each morning he talked with his host.
Each afternoon he rode the baron’s favorite horse, or had a round of
one-handed tennis with the secretary, or motored.
On the second morning Lord Fortinbras asked him another question.
“Is your father having any trouble with the remaining shares?”
“That I can’t say. A Boston lawyer is handling the matter, but if the
least breath of rumor starts, they may cost him as much as he has paid
you for the voting majority.”
“I see. Does he need a loan?”
“Thank you, sir, but he’s maneuvering to make Mr. Ferry put up the money
himself.”
“What a man, what a man! Well, there should be one holding that will
give him no trouble. The daughter-in-law of my friend Jimmy Hogg lives
near Boston. Is there a place called Wickford?” Marvin looked up in
surprise.
“I have spent many a week-end at Wickford. In fact I roomed with your
friend’s grandson at college.”
“Another link, my dear chap, between your youth and my eighty years.
Jimmy married at two and twenty, and became one of my father’s
draftsmen. When my father returned from Canada and organized the
original company, I persuaded him to give Jimmy some stock. It made him
well-to-do in a few years, and he wished to retire. Think of it, a man
of thirty-five with a son ten years old! We mocked him, and he emigrated
as his Huguenot ancestor had done before him. His son grew up in
Connecticut and married the Endicott girl. Since you know her, tell her
that I say she should give you those hundred shares for a song.”
“Lord Fortinbras, was there any ground for calling his ancestor a
Huguenot?”
“Best in the world, lad. The name was La Hoque, which on English tongues
becomes La Hogue. But after the French were defeated at La Hogue all the
blackguards began to taunt the man, and he changed the name to plain
Hogg. I used to tell Jimmy that he had no right to that name. If the
grandson is a decent fellow, tell him it’s poor navigation to sail under
a British flag when the bottom is French. If you want this tale
corroborated, have my man run you down to Beaulieu and see the vicar.
He’ll show you the records.”
Accordingly Marvin motored into the New Forest that very afternoon. In
the evening he seated himself at the secretary’s typewriter and
transcribed his notes. He posted the original to Kate Coggeshall and the
carbon to his sister Anita, with instructions. Consequently two
newspaper articles appeared, one in the Wickford paper and one in the
Ferry house-organ, and each gave Jimmy’s ancestry away.
The end of the cheerful week came, and Marvin sailed for home. It was
not till a month later, however, that Lord Fortinbras died. He had
seemed to improve a little, and on the last morning was taking a turn on
the terrace, supported by his secretary. To him his lordship
meditatively remarked,
“Nicholas, do you know what that lad said to me when I was strangling?
‘Be a good lord,’ he said. I’ve tried to be ... I’ve tried to be....”
and fell dead.