THE FORTUNE
It is not unusual to read of cases where men who have descended to the
lowest forms of labour--aye, even become tramps--being sought and
found as heirs to fortunes, left often by people who either had no
power to will otherwise, or whom death had taken unawares. Therefore,
when one fine morning a cab drove up to a beer-house, which was also a
tramps' lodging house, and a well dressed gentleman entered and
enquired of the landlord for a man named James Macquire--the landlord
at once pronounced him to be a solicitor in quest of a lost heir.
"Sir," said he, "we do not take the names of our lodgers, but several
are now in the kitchen. James Macquire, you said?" On receiving answer
in the affirmative the landlord at once visited the lodgers' kitchen,
and standing at the door enquired in a very respectable manner if
there was any gentleman present by the name of Macquire, whose
christian name was James. At which a delicate looking man, who had
arrived the previous night, sprang quickly to his feet and said in a
surprised voice--"That is my name." "Well," said the landlord, "a
gentleman wishes to see you at once; he came here in a cab, and, for
your sake, I trust my surmises are right."
With the exception of having on a good clean white shirt, the man
Macquire was ill clad, and he looked ruefully at his clothes, and then
at the landlord. "Please ask the gentleman to wait," said he, and,
going to the tap, began to wash his hands and face, after which he
carefully combed his hair.
The strange gentleman was seated quietly in the bar when the man
Macquire presented himself, and the landlord was engaged in washing
glasses and dusting decanters. "Mr. James Macquire?" asked the
gentleman, rising and addressing the ill-clad one in a respectful
manner, which the landlord could not help but notice. "That is my
name," answered Macquire, with some dignity. "Do you know anything of
Mr. Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall?" asked the gentleman. "I do,"
said the ill-clad one; and, after a long pause, and seeming to give
the information with much reluctance, he added--"Mr. Frederick
Macquire, of Doggery Hall, is my uncle." Several other questions were
asked and answered. "That will do, thank you," said the gentleman;
"will you please call at the 'King's Head' and see me at seven P. M.?
You have been advertised for since the death of Mr. Frederick
Macquire, some weeks ago. Good morning," he said, shaking James
Macquire by the hand in a highly respectful manner, as the landlord
could not fail to see, totally regardless of the man's rags.
The ill-clad one stood at the bar speechless, apparently absorbed in
deep thought. "What will you have to drink?" asked the landlord
kindly. "Whisky," answered Macquire, in a faint voice. After drinking
this, and another, he seemed to recover his composure, and said to the
landlord--"I am at present, as you must know, penniless, and you would
greatly oblige me by the loan of a few shillings, say half a sovereign
until I draw a couple of hundred pounds in advance. Whatever I receive
from you, you shall have a receipt, and, although nothing is said
about interest, the amount owing will be doubled, aye trebled, you may
rest assured of that, for I never forget a kindness." "You had better
take a sovereign," said the landlord, "and, of course, the Mrs. will
supply any meals you may need, and drink is at your disposal." "Thank
you," said Macquire, in a choking voice--"let me have a couple of pots
of your best ale for the poor fellows in the kitchen."
What a surprise for the poor lodgers when they were asked to drink
Macquire's health! On being told of his good fortune, they one and all
cheered and congratulated him. But the easy way in which this man
Macquire threw his weight about the kitchen and, for that matter, the
whole house was extraordinary.
Now it happened that there were at this house two stonemasons who,
although heavy drinkers, had been working steady for a week or more,
for their job was drawing to a close, and they knew not how many idle
weeks might follow. These men were at breakfast and, being repeatedly
offered drink, grew careless and resolved to quit work there and then
and draw their money, which amounted to three pounds ten shillings
between them. Macquire favoured this resolution and, said he, "Before
your money is spent, I shall have a couple of hundred pounds at my
disposal." The landlord was present at the passing of this resolution
and, though he said nothing, apparently favoured it, for he laughed
pleasantly.
In less than half an hour Macquire and the two stonemasons were back
in the lodging house kitchen, and drinking ale as fast as they
possibly could. In a number of cases the former received money from
his new friends to buy the beer, but, according to after developments
he must have pocketed this money and had the beer entered to his
account, in addition to that which he fetched of his own accord.
However, when evening came Macquire, though seemingly possessed of
business faculties, was not in a bodily condition to keep his lawyer's
appointment. As he himself confessed--"he was drunk in the legs, but
sober in the brain." What an evening we had! Not one man in the house
retired sober, and the kindness of the ill-clad one brought tears
into a number of eyes, for he made the stonemasons spend their money
freely, and he made the landlord fetch pot after pot, and all he did
in the way of payment was to utter that name, grown strangely
powerful--James Macquire.
Now when the next morning came there seemed to be a suspicion that all
was not right. For, as soon as James Macquire put in an appearance,
one of the stonemasons abruptly asked when he intended to see the
lawyer. At this moment the landlord entered, and, though he had not
heard the question, he too, would like to know when Macquire intended
seeing his lawyer. "Don't bother me," said Macquire, "you see what a
state I am in, trembling after drink?" "I'll soon put you right," said
the landlord, leaving the kitchen, and entering the bar.
The stonemasons offered their future benefactor a drink of beer, which
he waved aside, saying that he must first have a short drink to steady
his stomach. "You don't mind giving me a saucerful of your tea?" said
Macquire to me, for I was then at breakfast. "With pleasure," said I,
and, filling the saucer pushed it towards him. "Thank you," said he,
after drinking it--"that saucer of tea has cost me a sovereign!"
"Nonsense," said I, inwardly pleased, "it is of no value whatever."
"Have you any tobacco?" he asked. At this question one of the
stonemasons, in fear that Macquire would promise me more money,
sprang forward with tobacco. "I am not asking you for tobacco," said
Macquire slowly--"but am asking this gentleman." This was said in such
a way as could not give offence; as much as to say that he already
knew that the stonemason's heart was good, but that he felt disposed
to test mine and, if he found it generous, he would not forget me when
he came into his estate. Not setting great value on a pipeful of
tobacco, I offered him my pouch to help himself. After he had filled
his pipe, he said, in an abrupt manner, as he was walking towards the
bar--"Please remember, friend, I am five pounds in your debt." "What a
fine fellow he is," said the stonemason to me; "for the few kindnesses
we did him yesterday, he has promised me and my pal twenty pounds each
out of his first advance, and larger sums to follow."
At this moment the postman entered with a letter addressed to James
Macquire, Esq. If the landlord, or any one else, had the least
suspicion earlier in the morning, it certainly vanished at the sight
of this letter. Macquire opened the letter and, after reading it,
passed it to the landlord. That gentleman's face beamed with
satisfaction, although it was but an ordinary note saying that the
lawyer had expected Macquire the night previous, and trusted that he
would keep the appointment at the same hour on the following day, by
which time the lawyer would be able to advance him some money.
"That's something like business," said Macquire, to which every one
agreed, the landlord and the stonemasons showing the most approval.
"Now," said James Macquire to the landlord, "you had better let me
have some money." "What for?" asked that gentleman; "you can have
anything that you require, as I told you before." "Just for my own
satisfaction," said Macquire. "I am going to walk out for a while, so
as to keep myself sober for business." "You can't go out in those
rags," said the landlord--"you had better take my best suit."
In ten minutes or less the ill-clad one was standing at the bar in the
landlord's best suit of clothes, after which the said landlord gave
him all the money available, amounting to thirty shillings. "How much
am I in your debt?" asked Macquire. "Oh, about three pounds," was the
answer. "We will call it fifty pounds," cried Macquire and, drinking
his whisky, he left the house, followed closely by the faithful
stonemasons.
In half an hour the stonemasons were back, having lost their companion
in the market place, and were at the bar awaiting him, thinking he
might have already returned. Yes, and they could wait, for that was
the last of Macquire, and, to the surprise and mortification of the
landlord and the two stonemasons, the house received no more visits or
letters from lawyers.