THE FOUNDLING
"Lady to see you!" announced Droom. The shrewd, fearless genius of
the inner room glanced up quickly and met the prolonged, uncanny
gaze of his clerk; unwillingly, his eyes fell.
"Confound it, Lias! will you ever quit looking at me like that!
There's something positively creepy in that stare of yours!"
"Lady to see you!" repeated the clerk, shifting about uneasily,
and then gliding away to take his customary look at the long row
of books in the wall cases. He had performed this act a dozen times
a day for more than five years; the habit had become so strong that
chains could not have restrained him. It was what he considered
a graceful way of dropping out of notice, at the same time giving
the impression that he was constantly busy.
"Are you Mr. Bansemer?" asked the woman with the babe in her arms,
as he crossed into the outer office.
For a moment Bansemer purposely remained absorbed in the contemplation
of his finger nails; then he shot a sudden comprehensive glance
which took in the young woman, her burden and all the supposed
conditions. There was no doubt in his mind that here was another
"paternity case," as he catalogued them in his big, black book.
"I am," he replied shortly, for he usually made short, quick work
of such cases. There was not much money in them at best. They spring
from the lower and poorer classes. The rich ones who are at fault
in such matters never permit them to go to the point where a lawyer
is consulted. "Would you mind coming in to-morrow? I'm just leaving
for the day."
"It will take but a few minutes, sir, and it would be very hard for
me to get away again to-morrow," said the young woman nervously.
"I'm a governess in a family 'way uptown and my days are not very
free."
"Is this your baby?" asked Bansemer, more interested. The word
governess appealed to him; it meant that she had to do with wealthy
people, at least.
"No--that is--well, not exactly," she replied confusedly. The
lawyer looked at her so sharply that she flinched under his gaze.
A kidnapper, thought he, with the quick cunning of one who deals in
stratagems. Instinctively he looked about as if to make sure that
there were no unnecessary witnesses to share the secret.
"Come into this room," said he suddenly. "Both of you. See that we
are not disturbed," he added, to Droom. "I think I can give you a
few minutes, madam, and perhaps some very good advice. Be seated,"
he went on, closing the door after them. His eyes rested on Broom's
face for an instant as the door closed, and he saw a particularly
irritating grin struggling on his thin lips. "Now, what is it? Be
as brief as possible, please. I'm in quite a hurry."
It occurred to him at this juncture that the young woman was not
particularly distressed. Instead, her rather pretty face was full
of eagerness and there was a certain lightness in her manner that
puzzled him for the moment. Her companion was the older of the
two and quite as prepossessing. Both were neatly dressed and both
looked as though they were or had been bread-winners. If they had
a secret, it was now quite evident to this shrewd, quick thinker
that it was not a dark one. In truth, he was beginning to feel that
something mischievous lurked in the attitude of the two visitors.
"I want to ask how a person has to proceed to adopt a baby," was
the blunt and surprising remark that came from the one who held
the infant. Bansemer felt himself getting angry.
"Who wants to adopt it?" he asked shortly.
"I do, of course," she answered, so readily that the lawyer stared.
He scanned her from head to foot, critically; her face reddened
perceptibly. It surprised him to find that she was more than merely
good-looking; she was positively attractive!
"Are you a married woman?" he demanded.
"Yes," she answered, with a furtive glance at her companion. "This
is my sister," she added.
"I see. Where is your husband?"
"He is at home--or rather, at his mother's home. We are living
there now."
"I thought you said you were a governess?"
"That doesn't prevent me from having a home, does it?" she explained
easily. "I'm not a nurse, you know."
"This isn't your child, then?" he asked impatiently.
"I don't know whose child it is." There was a new softness in her
voice that made him look hard at her while she passed a hand tenderly
over the sleeping babe. "She comes from a foundling's home, sir."
"You cannot adopt a child unless supported by some authority," he
said. "How does she happen to be in your possession; and what papers
have you from the foundling's home to show that the authorities
are willing that you should have her? There is a lot of red tape
about such matters, madam."
"I thought perhaps you could manage it for me, Mr. Bansemer,"
she said, plaintively. "They say you never fail at anything you
undertake." He was not sure there was a compliment in her remark,
so he treated it with indifference.
"I'm afraid I can't help you." The tone was final.
"Can't you tell me how I'll have to proceed? I must adopt the
child, sir, one way or another." Her manner was more subdued and
there was a touch of supplication in her voice.
"Oh, you go into the proper court and make application, that's all,"
he volunteered carelessly. "The judge will do the rest. Does your
husband approve of the plans?"
"He doesn't know anything about it?"
"What's that?"
"I can't tell him; it would spoil everything."
"My dear madam, I don't believe I understand you quite clearly. You
want to adopt the child and keep the matter dark so far as your
husband is concerned? May I inquire the reason?" Bansemer, naturally,
was interested by this time.
"If you have time to listen, I'd like to tell you how it all comes
about. It won't take long. I want someone to tell me just what
to do and I'll pay for the advice, if it isn't too expensive. I'm
very poor, Mr. Bansemer; perhaps you won't care to help me after
you know that I can't afford to pay very much."
"We'll see about that later," he said brusquely; "go ahead with
the story."
The young woman hesitated, glanced nervously at her sister as if
for support, and finally faced the expectant lawyer with a flash of
determination in her dark eyes. As she proceeded, Bansemer silently
and somewhat disdainfully made a study of the speaker. He concluded
that she was scarcely of common origin and was the possessor of
a superficial education that had been enlarged by conceitedness;
furthermore, she was a person of selfish instincts, but without
the usual cruel impulses. There was little if any sign of true
refinement in the features, and yet, there was a strange strength
of purpose that puzzled him. As her story progressed, he solved
the puzzle. She had the strength to carry out a purpose that might
further her own personal interests; but not the will to endure
sacrifice for the sake of another. Her sister was larger and possessed
a reserve that might have been mistaken for deepness. He felt that
she was hardly in sympathy with the motives of the younger, more
volatile woman.
"My husband is a railroad engineer and is ten years older than I,"
the narrator said in the beginning. "I wasn't quite nineteen when
we were married--two years ago. For some time, we got along all
right; then we began to quarrel. He commenced to---"
"Mr. Bansemer is in a hurry, Fan," broke in the older sister,
sharply; and then, repeating the lawyer's words: "Be as brief as
possible."
There was a world of reproach in the look which greeted the speaker.
Evidently, it was a grievous disappointment not to be allowed to
linger over the details.
"Well," she continued half pettishly; "it all ended by his leaving
home, job and everything. I had told him that I was going to apply
for a divorce. For three months I never heard from him."
"Did you apply for a divorce?" asked the lawyer, stifling a yawn.
"No, sir, I did not, although he did nothing towards my support."
The woman could not resist a slightly coquettish attempt to enlist
Bansemer's sympathy. "I obtained work at St. Luke's Hospital for
Foundlings, and after that, as a governess. But, once a week I went
back to the asylum to see the little ones. One day, they brought
in a beautifully dressed baby--a girl. She was found on a doorstep,
and in the basket was a note asking that she be well cared for; with
it, was a hundred dollar bill. The moment I saw the little thing,
I fell in love with her. I made application and they gave me
the child with the understanding that I was to adopt it. You see,
I was lonely--I had been living alone for nine or ten months. The
authorities knew nothing of my trouble with Mr. Cable--that's my
husband, David Cable. The child was about a month old when I took
her to his mother, whom I hadn't seen in months. I told Mrs. Cable
that she was mine. The dear old lady believed me; half the battle
was won." She paused out of breath, her face full of excitement.
"And then?" he asked, once more interested.
"We both wrote to David asking him to come home to his wife and
baby." She looked away guiltily. For a full minute, Bansemer did
not speak.
"The result?" he demanded.
"He came back last month."
"Does he know the truth?"
"No, and with God's help, he never shall! It's my only salvation!"
she exclaimed emotionally. "He thinks she is his baby and--and---"
The tears were on her cheeks, now. "I worship him, Mr. Bansemer!
Oh, how good and sweet he has been to me since he came back! Now,
don't you see why I must adopt this child, and why he must never
know? If he learned that I had deceived him in this way, he would
hate me to my dying day."
The infant was awake and staring at him with wide, blue eyes.
"And you want me to handle this matter so that your husband will
be none the wiser?"
"Oh, Mr. Bansemer," she cried; "it means everything to me! All
depends on this baby. I must adopt her, or the asylum people won't
let me keep her. Can't it be done so quickly that he'll never find
it out?"
"How many people know that the child is not yours?"
"My sister and the authorities at the asylum; not another soul."
"It is possible to arrange the adoption, Mrs. Cable, but I can't
guarantee that Mr. Cable will not find it out. The records will
show the fact, you know. There is but one way to avoid discovery."
"And that, please?"
"Leave New York and make your home in some distant city. That's
the safe way. If you remain here, there is always a chance that he
may find out. I see the position you're in and I'll help you. It
can be done quite regularly and there is only one thing you'll have
to fear--you own tongue," he concluded, pointedly.
"I hate New York, Mr. Bansemer. David likes the West and I'll go
anywhere on earth, if it will keep him from finding out. Oh, if
you knew how he adores her!" she cried, regret and ecstasy mingling
in her voice. "I'd give my soul if she were only mine!" Bansemer's
heart was too roughly calloused to be touched by the wistful longing
in these words.
Before the end of the week the adoption of the foundling babe was
a matter of record; and the unsuspecting David Cable was awaiting
a reply from the train-master of a big Western railroad, to whom,
at the earnest, even eager, solicitation of his wife, he had applied
for work. Elias Droom made a note of the fee in the daybook at the
office, but asked no questions. Bansemer had told him nothing of
the transaction, but he was confident that the unspeakable Droom
knew all about it, even though he had not been nearer than the
outer office during any of the consultations.