Some two weeks later Mr. Horace Boyce, on returning home one evening,
found on his table a note which had been delivered during the day by
a servant. It was from Mrs. Minster--“Desideria Minster” she signed
herself--asking him to call upon her the following afternoon. The young
man read the missive over and over again by the lamplight, and if it
had been a love-letter from the daughter instead of the polite business
appointment by the mother, his eyes couldn’t have flashed more eagerly
as he took in the meaning of its words.
The meaning of its words! He thought long upon that, ruminating in his
easy-chair before the fire until far past midnight, until the dainty
little Japanese saucer at his side was heaped up with cigar ashes, and
the air was heavy with smoke.
Evidently this summons was directly connected with the remarks made by
Tenney a fortnight before. He had said the Minster business should come
to him, and here it was. The fact that Mrs. Minster wrote to him at his
residence, rather than at his office, was proof that she too wished to
have him alone, and not the firm of Tracy & Boyce, as her adviser. That
there should be this prejudice against Reuben, momentarily disturbed the
young man; but, upon examination, he found it easy to account for it.
Reuben was very nice--his partner even paused for a moment to reflect
how decent a fellow Reuben really was--but then, he scarcely belonged to
the class of society in which people like the Boyces and Minsters moved.
Naturally the millionnaire widow, belonging as she did to an ancient
family in the Hudson River valley, and bearing the queer name of a
grandmother who had been a colonial beauty, would prefer to have as her
family lawyer somebody who also had ancestors.
The invitation had its notable social side, too. There was no good
in blinking the fact that his father the General--who had effected a
somewhat noisy entrance to the house a half-hour ago, and the sound
of whose burdened breathing now intermittently came to his ears in the
silence of the night--had allowed the family status to lapse. The Boyces
were not what they had been. In the course of such few calls as he had
made since his return, it had been impossible for him not to detect
the existence of a certain surprise that he should have called at all.
Everybody, too, had taken pains to avoid reference to his father, even
when the course of talk made such allusion natural. This had for the
moment angered the young man, and later had not a little discouraged
him. As a boy he had felt it a great thing to be the son of a general,
and to find it now to be a distinct detriment was disheartening indeed.
But this black-bordered, perfumed note from Mrs. Minster put all, as
by the sweep of a hand, into the background. Once he visited that
proud household as a friend, once he looked Thessaly in the face as
the confidential adviser of the Minster family, the Boyces were
rehabilitated.
To dwell upon the thought was very pleasant, for it led the way by
sweetly vagrant paths to dreams of the dark-eyed, beautiful Kate.
During the past month these visions had lost color and form under the
disconcerting influences just spoken of, but now they became, as if by
magic, all rosy-hued and definite again. He had planned to himself on
that first November day a career which should be crowned by marriage
with the lovely daughter of the millions, and had made a mental march
around the walls encompassing her to spy out their least defended point.
Now, all at once, marvellous as it seemed, he found himself transported
within the battlements. He was to be her mother’s lawyer--nay, _her_
lawyer as well, and to his sanguine fancy this meant everything.
Everything? The word seemed feeble. It meant one of the most beautiful
women he had ever seen as his wife--a lady well-born, delicately
nurtured, clever, and good; it meant vast wealth, untold wealth, with
which to be not only the principal personage of these provincial parts,
but a great figure in New York or Washington or Europe. He might be
senator in Congress, minister to Paris, or even aspire to the towering,
solitary eminence of the Presidency itself with the backing of these
millions. It meant a yacht, the very dream of sea-going luxury and
speed, in which to bask under Hawaiian skies, to loiter lazily along the
topaz shores of far Cathay, to flit to and fro between spice lands and
cold northern seas, the whole watery globe subject to her keel. Why,
there could be a castle on the Moselle, a country house in Devonshire,
a flat in Paris, a villa at Mentone, a summer island home on the St.
Lawrence, a mansion in New York--all together, if he liked, or as many
as pleased his whim. It might be worth the while to lease a shooting in
Scotland, only the mischief was that badly bred Americans, the odious
_nouveaux riches_, had rather discredited the national name in the
Highlands.
So the young man’s fancies floated on the wreaths of scented smoke till
at last he yawned in spite of himself, sated with the contemplation of
the gifts the gods had brought him. He read Mrs. Minster’s note once
again before he went to bed, and sleep overtook his brain while it was
still pleasantly musing on the choicest methods of expending the income
of her millions.
Curiously enough, during all these hours of happy castle-building, the
question of why Schuyler Tenney had interested himself in the young
man’s fortunes never once crossed that young man’s mind. To be frank,
the pictures he painted were all of “gentlemen” and “ladies,” and his
father’s partner, though his help might be of great assistance at
the outset, could scarcely expect to mingle in such company, even in
Horace’s tobacco reveries.
Neither to his father at the breakfast-table, nor to Reuben Tracy at
the office, did young Mr. Boyce next day mention the fact that he was to
call on Mrs. Minster. This enforced silence was not much to his liking,
primarily because his temperament was the reverse of secretive. When
he had done anything or thought of doing something, the impulse to tell
about it was always strong upon him. The fact that the desire to talk
was not rigorously balanced by regard for the exact and prosaic truth
may not have been an essential part of the trait when we come to
analysis, but garrulity and exaggeration ran together in Horace’s
nature. To repress them now, just at the time when the most important
event of his life impended, required a good deal of effort.
He had some qualms of conscience, too, so far as Reuben was concerned.
Two or three things had happened within the past week which had laid
him under special obligation to the courtesy and good feeling of his
partner. They were not important, perhaps, but still the memory of them
weighed upon _his_ mind when, at three o’clock, he put on his coat and
explained that he might not be back again that afternoon. Reuben nodded,
and said, “All right: I shall be here. If so-and-so comes, I’ll go over
the matter and make notes for you.” Then Horace longed very much to tell
all about the Minster summons and the rest, and this longing arose as
much from a wish to be frank and fair as from a craving to confide his
secret to somebody; but he only hesitated for a second, and then went
out.
Mrs. Minster received him in the chamber which had been her husband’s
working room, and which still contained his desk, although it had since
been furnished with book-shelves and was called the library. Horace
noted, as the widow rose to greet him, that, though the desk was open,
its pigeon-holes did not seem to contain many papers.
After his hostess had bidden him to be seated, and had spoken in mildly
deprecating tones about the weather, she closed her resolutely lined
lips, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him in amiable
suspense. As has been said before, Mrs. Minster’s dark face, with its
high frame of white hair and its bright black eyes, habitually produced
an impression of great cleverness and alert insight, and Horace was
conscious of embarrassment in finding the task of conversation devolved
upon himself. He took up the burden, however, and carried it along from
subject to subject until at last it seemed fitting to broach the great
topic.
“I didn’t get your note until evening,” he said, with a polite inquiring
smile.
“No, I didn’t send it until after dinner,” she replied, and a pause
ensued.
It fortunately occurred to Horace to say he was very glad to have her
call upon him always, if in any way she saw how he could serve her. As
he spoke these words, he felt that they were discreet and noncommittal,
and yet must force her to come to the point. And they did, after a
fashion.
“It is very kind of you, I’m sure,” she said, graciously, and came to a
full stop.
“If there is anything I can do now,” Horace remarked tentatively.
“Well--oh yes! What I wanted to ask you was, do you know the Wendovers?”
“I don’t think I do.” murmured the young man, with a great sinking of
the heart.
“They’re New York people,” the lady explained.
“I know almost nobody in New York,” answered Horace gloomily. “Wendover?
No, I am quite sure the name is new to me.”
“That is curious,” said Mrs. Minster. She took a letter up from the
desk. “This is from Judge Wendover, and it mentions you. I gathered from
it that he knew you quite well.”
Oh, shades of the lies that might have been told, if one had only known!
Horace swiftly ransacked his brain for a way out of this dilemma.
Evidently this letter bore upon his selection as her lawyer. He guessed
rightly that it had been written at Tenney’s suggestion and by some one
who had Mrs. Minster’s confidence. Obviously this some one was of the
legal profession. That was his cue.
“The name does sound familiar, on second thought,” he said. “I daresay
it is, if I could only place it. You see, I had a number of offers to
enter legal firms in New York, and in that way I saw a good many people
for a few minutes, you know, and quite probably I’ve forgotten some of
their names. They would remember me, of course, but I might confuse them
one with another, don’t you see? Strange, I don’t fix the man you mean.
Was he a middle-aged man, grayish hair, well dressed?”
“Yes, that describes him.” She did not add that it would equally
describe seven out of every ten other men called “judge” throughout the
United States.
“Now I place him,” said Horace triumphantly. “There was some talk of
my going into his office as a junior partner. Mutual friends of ours
proposed it, I remember. But it didn’t attract me. Curious that I should
have forgotten his name. One’s memory plays such whimsical tricks,
though.”
“I didn’t know Judge Wendover was practising law,” said Mrs. Minster.
“He never was much of a lawyer. He was county judge once down in
Peekskill, about the time I was married, but he didn’t get reelected;
and I thought he gave it all up when he went to New York.”
“If it’s the man I mean,” put in Horace, groping his way despairingly,
“there wasn’t much business in his office. That is why I didn’t go in, I
daresay: it wouldn’t be worth my while unless he himself was devoted to
the law, and carried on a big practice.”
“I daresay it’s the same man,” remarked Mrs. Minster. “He probably
_would_ have a kind of law office. They generally do.”
“Well, may I ask,” Horace ventured after another pause, “in what
connection he mentions my name?”
“He recommends me to consult you about affairs--to--well, how shall I
say it?--to make you my lawyer?”
Eureka! The words were out, and the difficult passage about Judge
What’s-his-name was left safely behind. Horace felt his brain swimming
on a sea of exaltation, but he kept his face immobile, and bowed his
head with gravity.
“I am very young for so serious a responsibility, I’m afraid,” he said
modestly.
The widow reassured him with a smile. “There isn’t really much to do,”
she answered. “And somebody would have to learn what there is; and
you can do that as well as any one else, better than a stranger. The
difficulty is,” she spoke more slowly, and Horace listened with all his
ears: “you have a partner, I’m told.”
The young man did not hesitate for an instant. “Only in a limited way,”
he replied. “Mr. Tracy and I have combined on certain lines of work
where two heads are better than one, but we each keep distinct our own
private practice. It is much better.”
“I certainly prefer it,” said Mrs. Minster. “I am glad to hear you keep
separate. I do not know Mr. Tracy, and, indeed, he is very highly spoken
of as a _lawyer_; but certain things I have heard--social matters, I
mean--”
The lady broke off discreetly. She could not tell this young man what
she had heard about that visit to the Lawton house. Horace listened to
her without the remotest notion of her meaning, and so could only smile
faintly and give the least suggestion of a sigh. Clearly he must throw
Reuben overboard.
“We can’t have everything in this world just to our minds,” he said
judicially, and it seemed to him to cover the case with prudent
vagueness.
“I suppose you thought the partnership would be a good thing?” she
asked.
“At the time--_yes_,” answered Horace. “And, to be fair, it really has
some advantages. Mr. Tracy is a prodigious worker, for one thing, and
he is very even-tempered and willing; so that the burden of details
is taken off my shoulders to a great extent, and that disposes one to
overlook a good many things, you know.”
Mrs. Minster nodded appreciation. She also knew what it was to delight
in relief from the burden of details, and she said to herself that
fortunately Mr. Boyce would thus have the more leisure to devote the
affairs of the Minsters.
Into their further talk it is not needful to pursue the lady and her
lawyer. She spoke only in general terms, outlining her interests and
investments which required attention, and vaguely defining what she
expected him to do. Horace listened very closely, but beyond a nebulous
comprehension of the existence of a big company and a little company,
which together controlled the iron-works and its appurtenances, he
learned next to nothing. One of the first things which she desired of
Horace was, however, that he should go to Florida and talk the whole
subject over with Mr. Clarke, and to this he gladly assented.
“I will write to him that you are coming,” she said, as she rose. “I may
tell you that he personally preferred Mr. Tracy as his successor; but,
as I have told you--well, there were reasons why--”
Horace made haste to bow and say “quite so,” and thus spare Mrs. Minster
the trouble of explanations. “Perhaps it will be better to say nothing
to any one until I have returned from Florida,” he added, as a parting
suggestion, and it had her assent.
The young man walked buoyantly down the gravel path and along the
streets, his veins fairly tingling with excitement and joy. The great
prize had come to him--wealth, honor, fame, were all within his grasp.
He thought proudly, as he strode along, of what he would do after his
marriage. Even the idea of hyphenating the two names in the English
fashion, Minster-Boyce, came into his mind, and was made welcome.
Perhaps, though, it couldn’t well be done until his father was dead; and
that reminded him--he really must speak to the General about his loose
behavior.
Thus Horace exultantly communed with his happy self, and formed
resolutions, dreamed dreams, discussed radiant probabilities as he
walked, until his abstracted eye was suddenly, insensibly arrested by
the sight of a familiar sign across the street--“S. Tenney & Co.” Then
for the first time he remembered his promise, and the air grew colder
about him as he recalled it. He crossed the road after a moment’s
hesitation, and entered the hardware store.
Mr. Tenney was alone in the little office partitioned off by wood and
glass from the open store. He received the account given by Horace of
his visit to the Minster mansion with no indication of surprise, and
with no outward sign of satisfaction.
“So far, so good,” he said, briefly. Then, after a moment’s meditation,
he looked up sharply in the face of the young man, who was still
standing: “Did you say anything about your terms?”
“Of course not. How could I? You don’t show price-lists like a
storekeeper, in the _law!_”
Mr. Tenney smiled just a little at Horace’s haughty tone--a smile of
furtive amusement. “It’s just as well,” he said. “I’ll talk with you
about that later. The old lady’s rather close-fisted. We may make a
point there--by sending in bills much smaller than old Clarke’s used to
be. I ought to have told you about that. Luckily it wasn’t needed.”
The matter-of-fact way in which Mr. Tenney used this “we” grated
disagreeably on the young man’s ear, suggesting as it did a new
partnership uncomfortably vague in form; but he deemed it wise not to
touch upon the subject. His next question, as to the identity of Judge
Wendover, brought upon the stage, however, still a third partner in the
shadowy firm to which he had committed himself.
“Oh, Wendover’s in with us. He’s all right,” replied Schuyler Tenney,
lightly. “Never heard of him, eh? He’s the president of the Thessaly
Manufacturing Company. You’ll hear a good deal about _that_ later on.”
The speaker showed his teeth again by a smiling movement of the lips at
this assurance, and Horace somehow felt his uneasiness growing.
“She wants me to go to Florida to see Clarke, and talk things over,” he
said.
“Just so. That’s important. We must consider all that very carefully
before you go. Clarke requires handling. Leave that to me. I’ll think
out what you are to tell him.”
Horace was momentarily shrinking in importance before his own mental
vision; and, though he resented it, he could not but submit. “I suppose
I’d better make some other excuse to Tracy about the Florida trip,” he
said, almost deferentially; “what do you think?”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Mr. Tenney was interested, and made a
renewed scrutiny of the young man’s face. “Perhaps. I’ll think about
it, and let you know to-morrow. Look in about this time, and don’t say
anything till then. So long!”
Thus dismissed, Horace took his leave, and it was not until he had
nearly reached his home that the thoughts chasing each other in his mind
began to take on once more roseate hues and hopeful outlines.
Mr. Tenney watched his partner’s son through the partition until he was
out of sight, and then smiled at the papers on his desk in confidence.
“He’s ready to lie at a minute’s notice,” he mused; “offered on his own
hook to lie to Tracy. That’s all right--only he mustn’t try it on with
me!”