"No--no, my boy--this is on me!" protested Mr. Cooley, drawing a wad of
money from his vest pocket and carelessly tossing a hundred-franc note
across the counter.
While the cockney bartender of the English Tavern in the Champs Elysees
counted out the change, Tod, with an unsteady hand, raised to his lips
the glass of foaming, sparkling _Clicquot_.
"Here's to Uncle Dick--bless him!"
"Amen!" responded Mr. Cooley fervently.
The regular frequenters of the place, jockeys, bookmakers, racing touts,
and other persons of dubious appearance and pursuits who make up that
queer riffraff of British sporting characters always found drifting
about the French metropolis, either flush after recent winnings at
Longchamps or out at elbow from an extraordinary run of ill luck--all
these worthies nudged each other and grinned as they watched the two
Americans. There was no doubt in everyone's mind as to the nationality
of the strangers. Only Yankees could afford the luxury of opening
"fizz" so early in the day. What the onlookers did not know, of course,
was that an event of exceptional importance had brought the two
Americans together on this particular morning and that Tod Chase and
Bascom Cooley, the well-known New York lawyer, were celebrating an
auspicious event by "setting 'em up." Otherwise there would be little
excuse for loitering in the small, stuffy barroom, with its pungent odor
of stale beer and atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke, when the call of
the beautiful world without was so strong.
It was a glorious Spring morning, one of those perfect days when Paris,
decked in her loveliest raiment, is seen at her best. Under the shade of
the fine oak trees lining the entire length of the noble avenue were
dozens of buxom _nou-nous_, attractive in their neat caps and long
streamer ribbons. They sat knitting and gossiping while their daintily
dressed charges, happy and healthy, romped noisily in the bright
sunshine. Out in the broad, immaculately clean roadway, a heavy
three-horse omnibus _Porte Maillot-Hotel de Ville_ creaked its way up to
the Place de l'Etoile.
Todhunter Chase was not a bad-looking boy. There was something about him
which at once attracted the stranger. Small hours and cold bottles had
spoiled his complexion somewhat, and the vernacular and usages of the
Tenderloin had not improved his speech and manners. But people
overlooked his foibles because of his intense good nature. Nothing could
down that. Always smiling, always jolly, ever ready to go out of his way
to oblige a friend, it was little wonder that he was popular. His
features were well cut and his athletic, well-knit figure was well
groomed. With his frank, engaging personality and more than average
intelligence, there was no career in which he might not have done
himself credit. But unfortunately for Tod, he was afflicted with
matritis. In other words, his mother was solely to blame for his having
reached the age of twenty-five without earning as much as the price of a
celluloid collar button. Selfish and short sighted, as are many mothers
with growing sons, the then Mrs. Chase had preferred to have her boy
dangling at her skirts rather than see him prepare himself seriously to
battle with the world. After leaving college without honors, he made a
half-hearted effort to get something to do. He tried a dozen things and
succeeded in none. Utterly unable to concentrate on any one thing he
failed miserably in everything. Office routine he found irksome;
discipline intolerable. So, for several years he just drifted, leading a
lazy, irresponsible life that soon rendered him unfit for anything,
more than gambling or carousing with his cronies. As he grew older he
acquired more sense, but then it was too late. His mother at times
worried about it, but more often took it philosophically. As long as the
money held out, there was enough for her boy. There was plenty of time
to think of his future. Tod was so popular that he would be sure to
marry well. He would get some rich girl whose father would take him in
as partner. Then he would find a position in life ready made. There was
no hurry. Besides, would they not be rich themselves one day? Thus had
Tod's career, also, been marred in a measure by the same dazzling
"prospects" which had ruined his stepfather!
He was weak and he had been foolish, yet at heart Tod was not a bad
sort. A little wild, perhaps, as are most boys of his age and
opportunities, but by no means a fool. Anyone who took him for lacking
in gray matter would make a serious mistake. His moral sense was blunted
and his environments were bad--that was all. The fundamentals were good
and when a man's fundamentals are good his case is never quite hopeless.
Always in buoyant spirits, to-day Tod felt especially jubilant. Things
certainly seemed to have changed for the better. He had been in Paris
only two weeks, and he had already secured the American agency of two of
the most important French automobile makers, and on top of this
unlooked-for success had come the surprising news from home that John
Marsh was dead at last. The event so long waited for had actually
happened. Too much good fortune is bad for anyone, and for the last few
hours Tod had been celebrating not wisely, but too well. His face was
flushed and his speech thick as he went on:
"The old gentleman must have been a decent sort to cash in just now. It
couldn't have come at a better moment. Things at home were getting
pretty queer. Jimmy will be simply tickled to death!"
His companion, a big, heavily built, coarse-looking man, considerably
his senior in years, pursed his lips and nodded.
"I guess you're not sorry," he said dryly.
"Hang it! Cooley, why should I care?" cried Tod explosively. "He was
nothing to me. I never even saw him. Yet--do you know--I sometimes felt
a sneaking respect for the old man for the delicious way he snubbed
Jimmy. No doubt he was disgusted with him long ago. You know he wouldn't
see him or have anything to do with him. I guess he knew him better than
any of us. Jimmy's the limit--there's no doubt of that. I'm no saint
myself, but I know when to stop. The mater must have been wuzzy when she
married him. She's had a peck of trouble with him--you've no idea! Of
course this windfall puts everything right. I'd have given a couple of
hundred to have seen Jimmy's face when he opened your cable."
Mr. Cooley smiled grimly.
"Yes--I guess he didn't sleep much that night. He's waited long enough."
"Waited!" ejaculated the other. "Why, he has thought of nothing
else--sleeping or waking. If anything should happen to rob him of that
inheritance I think it would kill him."
"Ain't much chance of that," replied the lawyer, puffing out his chest.
"I drew up the will. When Bascom Cooley attends to a thing, it's likely
to be for keeps. The will was witnessed and executed right in my
presence, so there isn't any question about it. The will is now in our
safe-deposit vaults. That is why I must go back immediately. Nothing can
be done until I return. By the time I reach New York, the funeral will
be over. Then we can read the will."
Bascom Cooley, who for many years had looked after the late John Marsh's
interests, and to-day was one of Jimmy Marsh's closest cronies, was one
of the most widely known criminal lawyers in the United States. His
reputation was not of the best, but he was prosperous and the world
forgives much to the successful man. Shrewd, utterly unprincipled, all
kinds of questionable yet profitable legal business came his way, and
thanks to a brilliant talent, and a domineering, blustering manner which
intimidated judge and jury alike, he usually contrived to score a
victory for his client. It is true that only the guilty went to him. Law
breakers knew that if Bascom Cooley could not help them escape the
consequences of their misdeeds no one else could. He was known to be a
crooked lawyer. Corrupt practices, flagrant dishonesty, shameless
perjury of which he had been guilty had often been hinted at, yet none
dare attack him openly. His mysterious influence with the big political
leaders made him a man to be feared. It was Cooley's boast that the law
could not touch him. When it was seen that by the powerful influence
behind him he could break policemen, smother indictments, muzzle the
authorities, and make and unmake judges at will, the public began to
believe him.
He was born in New York City, of Irish parents. His father was a
policeman who, thanks to political pull, was able to reach a captaincy.
His salary and perquisites enabled him to give his son a better
education than he himself had received, and when it came to the choosing
of a career, Bascom decided on law. He was admitted to the Bar and began
practice in the ninth ward where he had the advantage of his father's
influence. A chip of the old block, he realized early in life the power
of money. He resolved to be successful, no matter by what means, and
with this determination constantly in mind it is not surprising that he
soon became involved in all kinds of shady schemes, all looking to the
fattening of his bank roll. In a single notorious real-estate deal--the
purchase of land for the purpose of a public park--he robbed the city of
nearly $250,000. That is to say, it was shown that the price the city
was compelled to pay for the land was exactly $250,000 more than it was
worth. Not that he himself got all the money. He did not expect that.
More than half of the spoils in the gigantic, bare-faced steal, went to
the men higher up, to those in the inner ring of boodle politicians, a
shameless coterie of rascals who at once brought to bear all the power
of the System to shield Bascom Cooley from prosecution and themselves
from exposure and disgrace. Laughing at threats of disbarment, snapping
his fingers at the hue and cry in the newspapers, Mr. Cooley went his
way, stealing, perjuring himself, openly defying public opinion.
The news of John Marsh's death was most welcome to Mr. Cooley. He was
taking a vacation in Europe and enjoying the sights of Paris when his
New York office notified him of what had occurred, and he cabled that he
would return at once. For a long time the wily attorney had had his eye
on the Marsh millions. Otherwise, how explain his close friendship for
Jimmy Marsh? Such a poor, weak fool could have nothing in common with
the famous lawyer whose brain teemed only with big schemes. If he
tolerated Jimmy, and dined and wined him and got him elected at his club
when no other club would admit him, it was with a purpose distinctly
Machiavellian in view. When Jimmy's financial affairs reached an acute
crisis it was always Mr. Cooley who obligingly bridged the chasm. Jimmy,
as already hinted, had borrowed freely on his prospects. Cooley was
nearly always the lender. Now the time had come to settle, and Mr.
Cooley promised himself not only to get back his own, plus interest, but
a substantial bonus besides. He knew a few things about Jimmy
Marsh--things Jimmy would rather not have the world, and especially the
yellow newspapers, know. And no doubt Jimmy would pay up like a man.
The money had come at a most convenient time. He had some big deals on
hand and needed cash badly. Things could not have turned out better. He
would go back at once and get in touch with things. It was while he was
hurrying from his hotel to go and secure his passage home by the first
steamer that he stumbled across Tod, who cheerfully accepted his
invitation to drink to the health of the inheritance.
Tod, who had been silent for a few minutes, apparently lost in thought,
suddenly blurted out:
"What gets me is that the old man left Jimmy any money at all! They
never saw each other. The old man utterly disapproved of his brother's
way of living, and had nothing to do with him."
"There was no one else to whom he could leave it--that's why," replied
the lawyer. "John Marsh," he went on, "was a peculiar man. He was
distant and reserved, I might say secretive--even with me, his legal
adviser. No one knew the real workings of his mind. I drew up his will
according to a rough draft, written by him."
"When was that?"
"Twenty-five years ago."
Tod gave vent to an expressive whistle.
"So Jimmy has been waiting twenty-five years?"
"Yes," said the lawyer, "twenty-five years--the average span of human
life."
"Suppose he has made another will since? Did Jimmy ever think of that?"
Mr. Cooley shrugged his shoulders.
"No--no danger of that. Why should he? If he had, wouldn't I know of it?
I have always remained on the best of terms with the old gentleman. I
have attended to other legal business for him, so if he did change his
mind in regard to the disposition of his estate, why wouldn't he come to
me? No, I don't think so. He kept aloof from his brother, but it's no
more than he did from anyone else. The man was eccentric--peculiar--you
must let it go at that."
"What was the old beggar worth? Have you any idea?"
"Twenty years ago he was several times a millionaire. What he has done
with the money, how he has invested it, I can't say. But he was no
spendthrift. There'll be enough to go round, I promise you that."
Draining his glass, he added: "I suppose you'll give up this automobile
business now, and go back and do some fancy figure skating on Broadway.
There's more fun in that, eh?"
Tod shook his head.
"No--Cooley--you're wrong. Like everyone else, you think I'm crazy for
money. But I'm not--honest to God! I've had my fling and I'm through.
I'm sick of Broadway, its rotten men and painted women. I'm sick of that
idle, stupid existence which stifles every decent impulse a fellow may
have. It's always the same, the same crowd, the same drinks and stunts,
the same old headache the next morning. I tell you I'm through with that
sort of life. I believe I was intended for something better, and, by
God, I'm going to make the effort! These last two weeks I've actually
respected myself because I've succeeded in making my board bill. Let
Jimmy and mater enjoy the money. I want none of it. I tell you I'm going
to win out by myself. You see if I don't! Here--have another drink!"
The lawyer laughed. This kind of talk from Tod was something entirely
new. He wondered how much the champagne was responsible for it.
"Shall you go back to New York?" he asked.
"Oh, I suppose so," replied Tod carelessly. "I ought to go on general
principles. I only came here on a brief visit."
"I sail to-morrow on the _Adriatic_," said the lawyer. "Come with me."
The young man shook his head.
"That's out of the question. I still have some business to attend to. I
may go Saturday on the _Touraine_."
"Oh, then you'll be right behind me. I'll let them know you're on the
way home."
"Tell Jimmy not to have all the money spent before I get there," grinned
Tod.
The lawyer made a move towards the door.
"Well-- I must be off. It's late, and I've a lot to attend to. I have to
go to the Palais-Royal first. Are you going my way?"
A moment later they were on the avenue hailing a cab. The _cocher_,
aroused by the promise of an extra _pourboire_, drove off briskly in the
direction of the Rue de Rivoli, and soon they were rolling smoothly
along that street of wonderful arcades. Passing the gilded gates of the
Tuileries gardens they soon came abreast of the Louvre. Tod glanced up
at the gloomy, time-discolored walls.
"That's one place I must take in before I leave Paris. Not that I know
one picture from another. Ever been there?"
Mr. Cooley gave a snort of disapproval.
"Naw," he grunted. "I've no time to spend in sepulchres. I prefer the
Bal Tabarin myself."