JOHN RECEIVES SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVICE.
John Oakley had triumphed in his encounter with Ben Brayton, and rode
off like a victor. Nevertheless he could not help feeling a little
doubtful and anxious about the future. There was no doubt that Ben
would complain to his mother, and as it was by her express permission
that he had taken the horse, John felt apprehensive that there would
be trouble between himself and his stepmother. I have already said,
that, though a manly boy, he was not quarrelsome. He preferred to live
on good terms with all, not excepting Ben and his mother, although he
had no reason to like either of them. But he did not mean to be imposed
upon, or to have his just rights encroached upon, if he could help it.
What should he do if Ben persevered in his claim and his mother
supported him in it? He could not decide. He felt that he must be
guided by circumstances. He could not help remembering how four years
before Mrs. Brayton (for that was her name then) answered his father's
advertisement for a house-keeper; how, when he hesitated in his choice,
she plead her poverty, and her urgent need of immediate employment; and
how, influenced principally by this consideration, he took her in place
of another to whom he had been more favorably inclined. How she should
have obtained sufficient influence over his father's mind to induce
him to make her his wife after the lapse of a year, John could not
understand. He felt instinctively that she was artful and designing,
but his own frank, open nature could hardly be expected to fathom hers.
He remembered again, how, immediately after the marriage, Ben was sent
for, and was at once advanced to a position in the household equal to
his own. Ben was at first disposed to be polite, and even subservient
to himself, but gradually, emboldened by his mother's encouragement,
became more independent, and even at times defiant. It was not,
however, until now that he had actually begun to encroach upon John's
rights, and assume airs of superiority. He had been feeling his way,
and waited until it would be safe to show out his real nature.
John had never liked Ben,--nor had anybody else except his mother
felt any attachment for him,--but he had not failed to treat him with
perfect politeness and courtesy. Though he had plenty of intimations
from the servants and others that it was unjust to him that so much
expense should be lavished upon Ben, he was of too generous a nature to
feel disturbed by it, or to grudge him his share of his father's bounty.
"There's enough for both of us," he always said, to those who tried to
stir up his jealousy.
"But suppose your father should divide his property between you? How
would you like to see Ben Brayton sharing the estate?"
"If my father chooses to leave his property in that way, I shan't
complain," said John. "Fortunately there is enough for us both, and
half will be enough to provide for me."
But John had never anticipated such a contingency as Ben and his mother
claiming the whole property, and, frank and unsuspicious as he was, he
felt that his father would never have left him so entirely dependent
upon his stepmother unless improper means had been used to influence
his decision. There was a particular reason which he had for thinking
thus. It was this: Three days before his father died, he was told by
the servant, on entering the house, that the sick man wished to see
him. Of course he went up instantly to the chamber where, pale and
wasted, Squire Oakley lay stretched out on the bed.
He was stricken by a disease which affected his speech, and prevented
him from articulating anything except in a whisper. He beckoned John to
the bedside, and signed for him to place his ear close to his mouth.
John did so. His father made a great effort to speak, but all that John
could make out was, "My will."
"Your will, father?" he repeated.
The sick man nodded, and tried to speak further. John thought he could
distinguish the word "drawer," but was not certain. He was about to
inquire further, when his stepmother entered the room, and looked at
him suspiciously.
"Why have you come here to disturb your sick father?" she asked, coldly.
"I did not come here to disturb him," said John. "I came because he
wished to speak to me."
"Has he spoken to you?" she asked, hastily.
"He tried to, but did not succeed."
"You should not allow him to make the effort. It can only do him harm.
The doctor says he must be kept very quiet. You had better leave the
room. He is safest in my care."
John did leave the room, and though he saw his father afterwards,
it was always in his stepmother's presence, and he had no farther
opportunity of communicating with him.
He could not help thinking of this as he rode along, and wondering what
it was that his father wished to say. He knew that it must be something
of importance, from the evident anxiety which the dying man manifested
to speak to him. But whatever it was must remain unknown. His father's
lips were hushed in death, and with such a stepmother John felt himself
worse than alone in the world. But he had a religious nature, and had
been well trained in the Sunday school, and the thought came to him
that whatever trials might be in store for him he had at least one
Friend, higher than any earthly friend, to whom he might look for help
and protection. Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside
into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called.
"Hallo, John!"
Looking up, he saw Sam Selwyn, son of Lawyer Selwyn, and a classmate of
his at the academy.
"Is that you, Sam?" he said, halting his horse.
"That is my impression," said Sam, "but I began to think it wasn't just
now, when my best friend seemed to have forgotten me."
"I was thinking," said John, "and didn't notice."
"Where are you bound?"
"Nowhere in particular. I only came out for a ride."
"You're a lucky fellow, John."
"You forget, Sam, the loss I have just met with;" and John pointed to
his black clothes.
"Excuse me, John, you know I sympathize with you in that. But I'm very
fond of riding, and never get any chance. You have a horse of your own."
"Just at present."
"Just at present! You're not going to lose him, are you?"
"Sam, I am expecting a little difficulty, and I shall feel better if I
advise with some friend about it. You are my best friend in school, and
I don't know but in the world, and I've a great mind to tell you."
"I'll give you the best advice in my power, John, and won't charge
anything for it either, which is more than my father would. You know
he's a lawyer, and has to be mercenary. Not that I ought to blame him,
for that's the way he finds us all in bread and butter."
"I'll turn Prince up that lane and tie him, and then we'll lie down
under a tree, and have a good talk."
John did as proposed. Prince began to browse, apparently well contented
with the arrangement, and the two boys stretched themselves out lazily
beneath a wide-spreading chestnut-tree, which screened them from the
sun.
"Now fire away," said Sam, "and I'll concentrate all my intellect upon
your case gratis."
"I told you that Prince was mine for the present," commenced John. "I
don't know as I can say even that. This afternoon when I got home I
found Ben Brayton just about to mount him."
"I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."
"I ordered him off," said John, quietly, "when he informed me that the
horse was his now,--that his mother had given it to him."
"What did you say?"
"That it was not hers to give. I seized the horse by the bridle,
till he became alarmed and slid off. He then came at me with his
riding-whip, and struck me."
"I didn't think he had pluck enough for that. I hope you gave him as
good as he sent."
"I pulled the whip away from him, and gave him two blows in return.
Then watching my opportunity I sprang upon the horse, and here I am."
"And that is the whole story?"
"Yes."
"And you want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll give it. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, stick
to that horse, and defy Ben Brayton to do his worst."
"It seems to me I've heard part of that speech before," said John,
smiling. "As to the advice, I'll follow it if I can. I'm not afraid of
anything Ben Brayton can do; but suppose his mother takes his part?"
"Do you think she will?"
"I am afraid she will."
"Then defy her too," said Sam, hastily.
"I don't know about that," said John. "I am only a boy of fifteen, and
she is my father's widow. If she chooses to take the horse away, I
don't know that I can do anything."
"Ben Brayton is a mean rascal. Didn't he get a gold watch at the same
time that you got the horse?"
"Yes; he might have had a horse too, but he preferred the watch and
chain. They cost as much as Prince."
"And now he wants the horse too?"
"So it seems."
"That's what I call hoggish. I only wish Ben Brayton would come to
school, and sit next to me."
"What for?" asked John, a little surprised at this remark.
"Wouldn't I stick pins into him, that's all. I'd make him yell like--a
locomotive," said Sam, the simile being suggested by the sound of the
in-coming train.
John laughed.
"That's an old trick of yours," he said, "I remember you served me so
once. And yet you profess to be my friend."
"I didn't stick it in very far," said Sam, apologetically; "it didn't
hurt much, did it?"
"Didn't it though?"
"Well, I didn't mean to have it. Maybe I miscalculated the distance."
"It's all right, if you don't try it again. And now about the advice."
"I wouldn't be imposed upon," said Sam. "Between you and me I don't
think much of your stepmother."
"Nor she of you," said John, slyly. "I heard her say the other day that
you were a disgrace to the neighborhood with your mischievous tricks."
"That is the 'most unkindest' cut of all," said Sam. "I'd shed a few
tears if I hadn't left my handkerchief at home. I have a great mind to
tell you something," he added, more gravely.
"Well?" said John, inquiringly.
"It's something that concerns you, only I happened to overhear it,
which isn't quite fair and aboveboard, I know. Still I think I had
better tell you. You know my father was your father's lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Well, he as well as everybody else was surprised at the will that
left everything to your stepmother, only he had the best reason to be
surprised. I was sitting out on our piazza when I heard him tell my
mother that only three months ago your father came to his office, and
had a will drawn up, leaving all the property to you, except the thirds
which your stepmother was entitled to."
"Only three months ago?" said John, thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"And did he take away the will with him?"
"Yes; he thought at first of leaving it in my father's charge, but
finally decided to keep it himself."
"What can have become of it? He must have destroyed it since."
"My father doesn't think so," said Sam.
"What does he think?"
"Mind you don't say a word of what I tell you," said Sam, lowering his
voice. "He thinks that Mrs. Oakley has put it out of the way, in order
to get hold of the whole property herself."
"I can hardly think she would be so wicked," said John, shocked at the
supposition.
"Isn't it easier to believe that of her, than to believe that your
father would deal so unjustly by you?"
"I won't call it unjustly, even if he has really left her the whole
property," said John. "Still, I was surprised at being left out of the
will. Besides," he added, with a sudden reflection, "there's something
that makes me think that the will you speak of is still in existence."
"What's that?" asked Sam.
In reply John gave the particulars of his father's attempt to
communicate with him, and the few words he was able to make out.
"I understand it all now," said Sam, quickly.
"Then you're ahead of me."
"It's plain as a pike-staff. Your father hid the will, fearing that
your stepmother would get hold of it and destroy it. He wanted to tell
you where it was. Do you know of any secret drawer in your house?"
John shook his head.
"There must be one somewhere. Now, if you want my advice, I'll give it.
Just hunt secretly for the drawer, wherever you think it may possibly
be, and if you find it, and the will in it, just bring it round to
my father, and he'll see that justice is done you. Come, I'm not a
lawyer's son for nothing. What do you say?"
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Sam."
"You may depend upon it I am. I'm your lawyer, remember, and you are
my client. I give advice on the 'no cure no pay' system. If it don't
amount to anything I won't charge you a cent."
"And if it does?"
"If you get your property by my professional exertions, I trust to your
generosity to reward me."
"All right, Sam."
"Of course you won't let your stepmother suspect what you're after.
Otherwise she might get the start of you, and find it herself, and then
much good it would do you."
"I'm glad to think it is still in existence, and that she hasn't
destroyed it."
"She would if she could, you may depend on that."
"Well, Sam, I'm much obliged to you for your advice. I think I must be
going now."
"Well, good-by, old fellow. Keep a stiff upper lip, and don't give up
the ship--horsemanship, I mean. I must go round to the office, and see
if father doesn't need a little professional assistance."
John leaped on Prince's back, and turned him in the direction of home.
The revelation which Sam had made gave a new direction to his thoughts.
If his father had really intended to give him a share of the estate, he
felt that he ought to have it, and determined to institute a search as
cautiously as possible.
Driving into the yard he saw Ben sitting sullenly on the door-step. He
eyed John with no very friendly glance.
"Where've you been?" he demanded.
"Up the road," said John, briefly.
"It's the last time you'll ride _my_ horse."
"It's not your horse."
"You'll find out whose horse it is," muttered Ben.
"I don't care about disputing with you," said John, quietly, turning
towards the stable.
"My mother wishes to see you at once; do you hear?" said Ben,
unpleasantly. "She's going to make you apologize to me for your
impudence."
"I'll go in and see her as soon as I have put the horse in the stable,"
John answered, quietly.
"I hate that fellow," muttered Ben, following our hero with lowering
eyes; "he puts on too many airs altogether. But my mother'll fix him."