“No debts, no escapades that Jake Benson would be likely not to approve of?”
“None so far as I know,” said Wade impatiently.
“Then what's wrong, can you tell me that?” asked Gibbs weakly.
“No, I can't,” said Wade.
“I suppose both of them lost their tempers over some trifle,” speculated the general. “But look here, this ain't no trifle to either of them; the boy's future is at stake; and this is no light matter to Jake either, for all his damn airs! I'll bet they just flared up over nothing at all, and now I want to see 'em flare down and get back to their senses. You're going to see Steve?”
“Yes, that is if he is at his aunt's as I expect he is. I am going there now.”
“Well, you tell him for me, Ben, that I want to see him, to-night at my house, will you do that?”
“Certainly.”
“Tell him it's very particular. I'd go to him myself, but Jake might not like that if he ever found it out; but there is no harm in his coming to me; that's quite another matter.”
“Quite,” agreed Wade.
“I'm going to patch this thing up,” said the old man. “Jake Benson ain't acting right, and he knows it. He's got no business to turn that young fellow out of doors without a day's warning. I'll tell him so, too, if he don't come to his senses damn quick!”
“All right, general—all right. I'll give him your message,” said Wade from the door.
“Thank you, Ben,” and Gibbs shuffled after him, but by the time he had reached the street, Wade had disappeared.
This was news indeed that old Gibbs had brought him, for there could be but one reason why Stephen had left Benson.
“He's objected to Stephen going to his aunt's. Stephen probably told him he was there last night. These people—these people! who are ready to chuck up everything for a fancied point of honour, who are always losing sight of the main thing! How am I ever going to keep them sane and faced about in the right direction!”
He found Stephen at the cottage but reserved and taciturn, and quite evidently none too well pleased with himself, and apparently very resentful of his own prompt appearance, especially when he told him of Gibbs's call and message. But Wade was not sensitive; he carried a stout heart under a thick skin, and much had been accomplished, for Stephen had broken with Benson. This was more than he had hoped for.
Virginia came into the room, and with a muttered excuse to her, Stephen left them. She was not reserved. She thought Benson's conduct had been outrageous.
“But what was the trouble, Mrs. Landray?”
“I don't know, Stephen hasn't said, but he has left Mr. Benson for good;” her eyes flashed with the sense of triumph she was feeling, and which she could not hide from him. She had asked Stephen no question, and he had told her nothing beyond the fact that he and Benson had disagreed and that he could not go back there.
“Well, now we can go ahead, can't we?” said Wade eagerly.
“Yes, I am glad you came, for I want to know what I must do.”
“We'll offer Benson back the five thousand dollars he paid for the land,” said Wade.
“But I have no such sum as that!” said Virginia.
“Oh, that's all right. Mr. Norton will let us have the cash for an hour or so. Of course, Benson won't take it, the tender is the merest formality, and don't really mean anything in itself,” explained Wade.
“Is it necessary?”
“Well, yes, it's a good point. Don't you see, you will have offered him his money back; it shows you are in earnest. Yes, I should hate to dispense with that; and to tell the truth, I've already arranged with Mr. Norton for the use of the money. He quite agrees with me that we should leave nothing undone that will give our case authority. When it gets to trial, I expect that we will find that Benson has not been quite so inactive as he seems. He has influence and he has money, and he will use them both; that's a foregone conclusion. This is going to rip the town wide open, Mrs. Landray; nothing like this has ever happened here before; no case of exactly the same calibre has ever been brought to trial in the county.”
He took his leave of her with some precipitation, for he feared the riot of his own enthusiasm. He had doubted and feared, but now the case was assured; and the dinky little Queen Anne on Norton's vacant lot seemed to be digging itself a cellar among the roses; and then it grew as never a house had grown before, until he could fancy himself approaching it with springing step, and Clara, that paragon of charming femininity, waiting for him just inside the door.
That night Stephen went to see Gibbs. The general had prepared for the meeting with unnecessary elaboration. He had induced his Julia to retire to a neighbour's.
“She don't know yet that anything's wrong between you and Jake, and I hope to get you back on a sane basis before I tell her you've had this little flare up. My dear boy, I want you to put your case in my hands and leave it all to me; a little tact, you know—”
“My dear general, you don't understand the situation,” said Stephen, but he had no intention of telling him the nature of their difference, he had too much regard for Gibbs. He could not shake his faith in Benson. That would come soon enough.
“I ain't asking to know the ins and outs of your little difference,” said Gibbs magnanimously. “I take it, it was just a friendly little quarrel, that I can patch up in about ten seconds when the time comes for me to take a hand in the matter.”
Stephen shook his head.
“Now, you don't mean that you ain't willing to patch it up?” expostulated Gibbs.
“I should like to retain Uncle Jake's affection—”
“Well, I don't reckon that's entirely out of your reach, Steve. Let me say something to him as coming from you; I'll wait until the time's ripe, trust me for that,” urged the general. “He's told me I mustn't mention your name again in his hearing, but I'll risk it. He can't put on those airs with me; I ain't no patience with such damn nonsense anyhow, and he knows it! Let me tell him you regret what's happened—I don't know what it is, and I don't ask to know—but just let me tell him you are sorry. I want to see you back there both for his sake and for your own. I know Jake Benson, I know him better than he knows himself; and if you say I may, I'll lodge the sort of an idea with him that'll stick. Let me fix it up for you, Steve,” he entreated.
“No, you must say nothing, general. In fact there is nothing you can say.”
“Don't let your pride obscure your reason, Steve, you got too much at stake to act this way. You can't afford to affront him.”
“But I've not affronted him, in the sense you mean; you will know all there is to know before long, and then you will understand.”
“And you won't let me say a word to him?” grieved Gibbs.
“It can only make trouble for you, general, and nothing can come of it.”
“You shouldn't have lost your temper, Steve. Of course, I know he's rather exacting at times—”
“No, I've nothing to complain of; he has always been kindness itself to me. I appreciate your wish to help me, though I can't make use of it.”
“Just let me edge in a word now and then,” urged the general. “My disagreement with Uncle Jake is not of the nature you suppose, and is not to be adjusted. The breach can only go on widening. I am sorry to have to tell you this.”
“You don't mean you broke with him for good and all!” wailed Gibbs.
“That's about the amount of the matter.”
“But you can't afford to, Steve.”
“It's an extravagance in which I am going to indulge myself, at any rate,” said Stephen, smiling sadly at the old man.
“I thought it was just some little difference,” said the general. “You're sure you don't exaggerate?”
“I fear I don't. But I thank you for your wish to serve me.”
“It was for him as well as you, Steve. You been everything to him. Now he's got only me, and we'll doze over our wine night after night as we did before you came—well, I'm sorry there's nothing I can do, but I suppose you know best. Well, I hope it will work out right, for I've set my heart on your getting his money one of these days. I don't want to see it go to some damn charity!”
Wade had told Virginia that their first step would be to offer Benson the five thousand dollars he had paid for the land. She had not understood that she would have to make this demand in person, but later Wade made this point clear to her.
“Of course it's not a thing one would care to do if one were going to pick out just the things they'd like to do,” said Wade, smiling into her face. “But we'll catch him at his office when only old Gibbs and the bookkeeper are there; they'll do very well as witnesses,” he explained.
“And I must go there—but not alone!”
“No, no, I'll go with you.”
Virginia looked at him doubtingly.
“It never occurred to me that I should have to do this, Mr. Wade,” she said.
“I don't expect the law is ever very pleasant to any one except the lawyers, but I should think this would be a rather more difficult occasion for Mr. Benson than for any one else.”
“Does Stephen know what I shall have to do?”
“I don't think he does.”
“Then he'd better not be told until it is all over.”
“Probably not,” agreed Wade.
“If it were not for his sake I should not care to make this demand; but don't you see, he will have absolutely nothing unless this suit is won. It is most important that the money should be recovered.”
“It is,” said Wade.
“And you have no doubt but the suit will be won?” she asked anxiously.
“Well, of course, one can never tell; but I've put the question to myself many times in the last few days, and I feel certain of the outcome. I think we had best get the preliminary steps over with as quickly as possible.” He was aware that the interview with Benson would only seem the more impossible the longer it was deferred.
“I have not seen Mr. Benson in years,” said Virginia thoughtfully. “Once I should not have thought it possible for him to wrong any one—”
“Well, we know in Stephen's case that he was hard enough—to call it by no other name,” said Wade.
“Yes, that is true.”
“My dear Mrs. Landray, there is nothing extraordinary in the situation. I am sorry to say it, but suits of this sort are far from uncommon. You had every confidence in Mr. Benson, and he saw his opportunity. Men play for riches without much thought of anything but the stakes. Not to get found out is the principal thing.”
But Virginia was not giving any attention to Mr. Wade's slipshod views on morality. She was thinking of the Benson she had once known; the Benson who had sacrificed himself to meet her lightest wish, whose kindness had seemed infinite. He could not have wronged her and remained the man she Had known. The change had begun then, and it had gone on, and the manifestation of it had come to her in many ways; in his treatment of Stephen's father, and now in the case of Stephen himself. The thought of the two Stephens always stiffened the spirit of her resentment against this former friend.
“I think the sooner we get it over with, the better,” said Wade. “What do you say to some day next week?”
“Is there any reason why we should wait?” asked Virginia.
“None whatever, but I thought you might prefer to.”
“No, I will see Mr. Benson at once.”
Wade's eyes sparkled.
“Mr. Benson is usually in his office between eleven and twelve. If I call here with a carriage and the money at half-past ten tomorrow, will you be ready?”
“Yes.”
“I declare, Mrs. Landray, you are almost as good as a man! We are sure to find old Gibbs there, and Miss Murphy, the bookkeeper. The thing will be over with in a moment; the anticipation is much the worst part of it.”
“Come at half-past ten,” said Virginia; and Wade hurried down town to see Norton.
He stopped at his office just long enough to write a note to Stephen, whom he asked to drop in on him at half-past ten the next day, and to wait there for him until he came. He wanted to get him out of the way until Virginia should have had her interview with Benson, when it would be too late for him to interfere to any purpose.
The next morning, assisted by Jane, Virginia dressed for the ordeal with more than her usual care.
“Where is Stephen?” she asked of the latter.
“He has just gone to see Mr. Wade, dear. He had a note from him this morning asking him to call at the office, so he told me.”
By turns Virginia was hot and cold, but her composure was steady and unshaken, though when they heard the carriage drive up to the gate, she sat down abruptly and stared rather helplessly at Jane; yet a moment later when she descended the stairs, all her firmness had returned.
On the way downtown Wade carefully outlined the points she was to cover.
“You think you can do it, Mrs. Landray?” he asked anxiously; “You don't think it will be too much for you?”
“It is nothing I should care to do for the pleasure of it,” said Virginia, with a gleam of nervous humour at the thought. She set her lips firmly. “I think I can remember all you say. You will go in with me?”
“Oh, yes, you don't think I'd desert you?” he said reproachfully. He was in a fever of excitement, though no one would have guessed it from his manner.
“Then stand close at my side where I can touch you if I want to,” said Virginia.
“I'll be right there, Mrs. Landray,” he answered laughing. “Still I don't see why you should feel it. Benson is the one who has done wrong. All you want is the land, and I've the money here for him, if he'll only take it.”
The carriage drew up at the curb in front of Benson's office, and Wade opened the door and sprang out and helped Virginia to descend. He looked closely into her face, but beyond that it was quite colorless, it betokened nothing of her feeling at that moment. He could not help seeing what a fine and imposing figure she made. He noted the firm set of her lips, and knew she would be fully equal to the occasion.
For a moment Virginia paused before entering the building and glanced about her. Perhaps she did this unconsciously, but Wade thought he understood her feeling.
“Courage!” he said.
She entered the building and went swiftly up the single flight of steps that led to Benson's office. Wade made as if to offer her his arm, but by a quick gesture she declined it. He kept his glance fixed on her face. He would have been quick to detect any sign of wavering on her part; but her face had become a mask which hid all emotion.
They entered the office. In the outer room sat Gibbs writing at his desk, with his bald head just showing where he bent above his work. At another desk Miss Murphy was similarly occupied. An arch which could be closed with folding doors, separated the outer office from the inner and more private room, and here sat Benson. But he was not alone. Dr. Ward, the Episcopal clergyman was with him, and they were talking together.
Wade glanced about him with a swift turn of the head. He saw Gibbs and Miss Murphy; and beyond the arch, Benson and Dr. Ward; and a slight smile parted his lips. Dr. Ward's unlooked-for presence only added to the dramatic value of the moment that was to come, and Wade's alert mind saw beyond the present. It would be all over town in a few hours, and he would be the most talked of lawyer in the county. He nodded pleasantly to Gibbs, who had glanced up from his writing, and whose eye he caught. He smiled at Miss Murphy, who was pretty, and turned to Virginia.
“Courage!” he whispered between his teeth.
Virginia advanced straight to the wide opening between the two rooms. She did not see Gibbs, and she did not see Miss Murphy; though she was conscious of their presence in the room. But she did see Benson, and knew in a vague sort of way that he was seated at his desk talking with a man, but she did not realize who that man was until afterward.
When he saw Virginia, white-faced, but resolute, and determined, Benson realized what was to follow, what was indeed happening then; and he came slowly to his feet. He even took half a step forward to meet her.
“I am very glad to see you, Virginia,” he said in a low voice. “Won't you sit down for a moment? I shall be at liberty then.”
He wanted Dr. Ward to go before she hurled her charges at his head.
Virginia turned rather helplessly to Wade. She was conscious all at once that what had been a mere idea had suddenly become an entity, and the entity was this gentle smiling man whom she had come there to charge with fraud. But Wade gave her a quick glance of encouragement and nodded his head with cool decision. At the same moment he slipped into her hand the packet of bank-notes which Norton had furnished for the occasion.
In a clear voice, a voice that vibrated richly with feeling, Virginia began her demand. There was a gasping pause—and then a deathly stillness in the office which the sound of her voice filled, not loudly, but clearly and distinctly.
Miss Murphy let the pen slip from her fingers. It rolled across her desk, and fell noisily to the floor. Gibbs half rose from his chair, and stared at Virginia with bulging eyes fixed in a stare of unutterable astonishment. Every scrap of colour had fled from Benson's smooth-shaven cheeks, and his thin lips twitched, seeming to follow her words with some utterance of his own; but no sound escaped them. Word for word he kept up this dumb show of speech, while his fingers played nervously, absently, the while, with some papers he held in his hand.
But of all, Dr. Ward was the first to recover himself. He uttered a startled exclamation, once the full meaning of what Virginia was saying was clear to him, and took a step toward her.
“You're mad, Mrs. Landray!” he cried.
Apparently he had it in his mind to stop her by some physical act, but Wade put out his hand and waved him away.
“Don't you see—don't you understand—this is a matter of business, let Mrs. Landray go on! This is no concern of yours,” he said in an unshaken voice, and glared angrily at the would-be interrupter.
But Virginia had already finished. There was a brief pause.
“The money, Mrs. Landray, you have it in your hand,” said Wade, grimly insistent that the farce should be played out; and obedient to his prompting, Virginia took a forward step and extended the bundle of notes.
Benson raised his head and looked at her. Then he said in the same low voice in which he had before spoken.
“I don't know what you mean, Virginia. No, the sale of the land will have to stand;” and he turned imperturbably to Dr. Ward.
“He has answered you, Mrs. Landray. We will go,” said Wade quietly; and they moved back through the outer office, past the astonished Gibbs, and past Miss Murphy. It was only when they reached the head of the flight of steps that Virginia spoke.
“I forgot nothing? I said all that was necessary for me to say?” she asked.
He realized that she would have been ready to return if this had been needful.
“Indeed you did!” he chuckled.
But as they went down-stairs her gloved hand rested quite unconsciously on his arm, and he noted how it shook, and divined that the ordeal through which she had just passed had been perhaps greater than he had at first supposed. When they reached the street, she turned to him and said:
“You need not go back to the house with me. I really think I prefer to go alone—only tell the man to drive fast, please.”
“But hadn't you better let me go with you?” he urged.
“No, you are very kind. And please don't come to see me until to-morrow; this has been enough for one day.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
|WADE found Stephen waiting for him when he entered the office.
“I am sorry I was detained,” he said smoothly. “But the fact is I've been to see Mr. Benson. I took your aunt there. I tell you she's a trump! She's the one person I know, who's just a little more than a match for him!” He threw himself down in the chair by the desk and sought among the litter of papers for his pipe and tobacco.
“My Aunt Virginia has been to see Mr. Benson!” cried Stephen. “Yes, sir, I just sent her home in a carriage,” said Wade coolly.
“I should have been told about this, Ben,” said Stephen resentfully. “It was my right to know what you were doing.”
“Oh, see here, Steve, that's no way to look at it. We wanted to spare you. You can't muss up in this; you wouldn't have cared to go to him yourself.”
“I? I couldn't!” said Stephen. .
“Of course you couldn't, and so your aunt did the trick.” He began to fill his pipe, and as he worked the tobacco down with his forefinger, he described the interview.
“But what did Uncle Jake say?” asked Stephen impatiently. He found that after all he had counted much on some explanation the lawyer would have it in his power to make.
“Say? Nothing,” snorted Wade. “I didn't expect he'd say anything. What would he say?”
“But he denied it?”
“Not in the way you mean, Steve. But of course he declined to accept the money your aunt tendered him.”
“What will you do now?”
“Get it to trial as quick as ever I can. Enough time's been wasted already.”
Stephen was silent. He rested his head in his hands; he was sick at heart. The idea that the hideous thing had been given publicity was nauseating to him. Wade smiled at him genially through a cloud of tobacco smoke.
“I won't ask you to join me in three cheers, Steve, and out of respect for your feeling in the matter I won't indulge in them myself; but say, don't look so mournful—cheer up! I don't expect you to enter into the spirit of my joy, but do you know there's a fellow named Ben Wade who's given five priceless years of his life to the odd jobs of legal practice, runty little cases, where if he snaked out a five or ten dollar fee, it kept him and his girl up half the night building Queen Anne cottages! Well, from now on Ben Wade will have a free field for his genius; the day of odd jobs is over for him—he's come into his own! Of course I don't expect you to take much interest in the short and simple annals of the poor, for I guess you never sat up many nights with your best girl building Queen Annes with ten-dollar bills; but if you had ever known all the things a fellow can do with a ten-dollar bill, the torrent of hope that a greasy trifle like that, earned, can pour into his soul; you'd understand why I'd like to stick my head out of that window and give three cheers for myself, and your aunt—yes, and for old Benson, too—God bless him! I mustn't forget him, for he's done his part in promoting the welfare of a fellow being!”
They were silent again. Wade pulled serenely at his pipe, and Stephen stared from the window. He was trying to fathom his relation to the events of which Wade had told him.
On the street below, Gibbs suddenly appeared from around a corner. He paused when he was opposite the building, and glanced across uncertainly at Wade's windows; then he hurried forward at the best speed of his old legs. Stephen followed his movements with his glance.
“What are you looking at, Steve?” asked Wade.
“General Gibbs, he seems to be coming here,” he said, and then they heard Gibbs come shuffling up the stairs and down the hall. Purple-faced and perspiring the general entered the room.
“Is Steve here?” he demanded gruffly. Then he saw the two young men by the window. “I want to see you, Steve,” he said, ignoring Wade. “I been out to your aunt's; Mrs. Walsh told me I'd probably find you here.”
Stephen glanced questioningly at Wade, who quitted his chair.
“I'll just step out for a minute; no doubt the general will prefer to see you alone.” He put down his pipe, and reached for his hat.
Gibbs appeared to be having some sort of an attack. He was sputtering and choking. Then he whirled furiously on Wade.
“Don't you speak to me—I forbid it!” he roared. “You scoundrelly busybody—you miserable sneaking shyster! Never speak to me again, or damn your soul—I'll strike you with my cane!”
Stephen placed his hand restrainingly on the old man's arm, and sought to draw him toward the front of the room. He gave Wade a glance of mute appeal, but Wade was standing with his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was regarding Gibbs with a smile of kindly tolerance. Resentment was remote from him. The thought of his success rested on him like a benediction. He was not to be moved by anything so impotent as the general's rage. He turned at last with a light laugh and quitted the room.
“I can't contain myself!” sputtered the general. “If I was ten years younger—yes, five years younger, I'd horsewhip him within an inch of his life—yes, I would, by God!” He mopped his face with his handkerchief. His burst of anger left him helpless and wretched. “Ain't it awful, Steve?” he moaned.
“Yes, general. Here, sit down.” He drew forward the chair Wade had vacated, and the general collapsed weakly into it.