AN UNEXPECTED LETTER.
As I walked along the street I could not help but ponder over the way I
had been treated. My uncle's manner towards me was getting harsher every
day. If it kept up in this fashion soon the time would come when human
nature could stand it no longer.
And what was I to do then? Several times I had asked myself that
question without being able to come to a satisfactory answer. It was
easy enough to think of running away and so forth, but this was just the
thing I did not wish to do. My uncle was my guardian, and he was bound
to support me. To be sure, the support he gave me was merely a nominal
one; but I was not versed in law, and was afraid if I went off he might
keep my inheritance from me. I did not know how much money my father had
left, but what there was I wanted to come to me.
Gus's actions puzzled me. If he was bound for a day to Coney Island what
had brought him to the office at such an early hour of the morning? I
knew that he disliked early rising, and was pretty well satisfied that
even the delight of paying me off would not have induced him to leave
his soft bed.
Arriving at the post-office, I posted Mr. Stillwell's letters, and then
opened the box containing the letters for the firm. There were quite a
handful, and I looked at the addresses to see that no mistakes had been
made.
In an instant one of them attracted my attention.
It was directed as follows:
MR. LUKE FOSTER,
_Care of Stillwell, Grinder & Co._,
PATENT AGENTS,
NEW YORK CITY.
The letter was addressed to me, and as it was the first foreign epistle
I had received since my parents' death, I looked at it with considerable
curiosity. It was postmarked London, and the handwriting was cramped and
heavy.
Tearing the letter open, I was still more astonished to read the
following lines:
"MR. LUKE FOSTER,
"DEAR SIR:
"Of course you will be astonished to receive this, I being a
stranger to you. But just before his death I became well
acquainted with your father, he spending with your mother six
weeks at my country residence in Northampton. We met six years
ago in New York, and traveled from that city to Chicago, and
from there to St. Louis; so you will see that we became quite
intimate.
"While stopping at my house your father expressed the fear that
should he die suddenly while on his travels, and his wife also
(odd, indeed, when such proved to be the case), your future
might be an uncertain one. He said he had made a will,
appointing his friend, John W. Banker of Locustville, New York
State, to be your guardian, but was afraid you might not like
the choice, or that this man might not treat you well.
"Never expecting that your father's end was near, I laughingly
replied that I was sure he had done for the best. But he shook
his head in doubt, and said men were strange, and often acted
in a way least expected, which is certainly true. So I agreed,
should anything happen to him, to keep an eye on you. I have
not done so for the following reason:
"Following close upon your parents' death came the demise of my
mother in Paris, and a week later, the failure of a banking
house in South America, with which I was closely connected.
After the funeral of my mother I took passage for Rio de
Janeiro, and it was about two weeks ago that I set foot in
England. Since then I have been exceedingly busy straightening
out my affairs, and this is the first chance I have had of
addressing you.
"I trust your father's choice of a guardian has been a happy
one, and that you are doing well. If not, write me immediately,
and I will see what can be done. I send this letter in care of
your uncle because I have not had your address. I know that he
and your father were not on good terms, but I trust you no
longer carry on that quarrel.
"Very truly,
"Your friend,
"HARVEY NOTTINGTON.
"43 OLD FELLOWS ROAD.
Standing by one of the deep windows of the post-office, I read the
letter through twice. It will be needless for me to state that it
impressed me strangely.
The most important statement made by the writer was that my father had
never intended my uncle to be my guardian. I knew of the family quarrel,
but Mr. Stillwell, when he had taken me from the academy, had assured me
that that was all past and gone, and I had been delighted to have it so,
for it had always pained me to see my mother not on speaking terms with
my aunt. But apparently my uncle had not told the truth, and for reasons
of his own.
How was it that Mr. Stillwell had been appointed my guardian when my
father wished Mr. Banker to act in that capacity? This was a question
that worried me not a little. I liked Harry's father very much, and was
sure he would have treated me with far more consideration than I was now
receiving.
The perusal of the letter drove all thoughts of the unpleasant scene I
had left behind from my mind, and I was on the point of going directly
to my uncle for an explanation of the case. But then came the
recollection of Mr. Stillwell's manner towards me, and I shoved the
letter into my pocket, resolved to say nothing until I had thought the
matter over.
I walked back to the office slowly, for I was in deep thought. For two
years my uncle had been my guardian, and during that time my life had
been little better than a continual hardship. The letter brought up the
memory of the past, and I realized now more than ever how happy the days
gone by had been. What had brought about the change?
Clearly, the way I was being treated. Mr. Stillwell cared nothing for
me, body or soul. Indeed, at that moment I was inclined to think that he
would be as well satisfied to see me dead as alive. Perhaps if I were
dead he would inherit the money left me by my father.
This thought had never occurred to me before, and I gave it considerable
attention. When I came to review the whole matter I discovered that in
reality I knew very little of my own affairs. I had taken many things
for granted, and my uncle's word on all occasions. Whether this was for
the best was still to be seen.
I was glad I had not gone on a visit that day. Had I done so Mr.
Stillwell would have received my letter, and I do not doubt but that he
would have opened it. As it was, he knew nothing of the communication,
and I did not intend that he should until I was ready to disclose it to
him.
By the stamp upon the letter sheet, I saw that Mr. Nottington was a
solicitor, and this made my mind revert to Mr. Ira Mason. As I have
said, the lawyer had taken an interest in me, and I was sure he would
now give me the best advice in his power.
I was sorry I could not go to the gentleman at once. The letter had
fired my curiosity, and I wanted to get at the bottom of the affair.
But I had already lost time: to lose more would raise a storm of anger
against me. I determined to wait until the noon hour, or after my uncle
had gone home.
The firm of patent lawyers of which my uncle was senior partner was
composed of himself, Mr. Grinder, a short, stumpy busybody, now away to
Washington on business, and Mr. Canning, a young man who had been but
recently taken in, not so much because he was needed, I fancied, as
because he brought with him plenty of money and a good business
connection.
Mr. Canning did not come to business until very late, as he lived
twenty-five miles out of the city, in New Jersey. There were no clerks
but Gus and myself; so when I arrived at the office I found Mr.
Stillwell still alone.
My uncle's face was as dark as a thunder-cloud when I handed him the
letters. I made up my mind he was about to lecture me for having taken
my time, and I braced up to withstand the shower of strong language he
would be sure to heap upon me.
"So, young man, you've got back at last!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, sir."
"Been rather a long while."
To this I made no reply. What was there to say?
"It's a wonder you came back at all," he went on. "To be honest, I never
expected to see you again."
"I'm sorry I can't please you, Uncle Felix."
"Don't Uncle Felix me!" he cried savagely. "After your dirty work to-day
I don't want to be any relation to you."
This was certainly putting it rather strongly.
"Whether you believe it or not, I didn't muss up the office," I said
firmly. "Gus did that."
"I left Gus at home," he cried, even more emphatically than before, and
I could see that he was really angry because of my having dragged his
son's name into the dispute.
"Gus was here, and left just before you came."
"I don't believe it."
"All the same, it is true."
"It's only a story to pass your crimes off on my son. But it won't wash,
Luke, it won't wash."
I made no further reply, seeing it was useless to try to reason with
him, but hung up my hat and turned my attention to cleaning up the
floor.