MR. CHECKYNSHAW IS LIBERAL.
Mrs. Wittleworth went directly to the door of the private office. She
had her doubts in regard to the interview which was to take place. Mr.
Checkynshaw had never treated her very handsomely. She had called upon
him only once since the downfall of her husband. The banker had
listened very coldly to her story of hardship and suffering. He had
taken Fitz into his employ at that time; but her reception was so cold,
and the great man's manner so forbidding, that she had resolved that
nothing but imminent starvation should induce her to repeat the visit.
Mr. Checkynshaw was a hard, selfish, money-getting man. He was not one
whom a poor relative would willingly approach with a tale of suffering.
Though this was not Mrs. Wittleworth's present errand, she dreaded the
result almost as much as though she had been an applicant for charity.
The banker was overbearing and haughty in his way. He bullied his
social inferiors, and looked upon them from a height which was
appalling to them. She opened the door and entered. The banker was
alone, sitting in the stuffed arm-chair at his desk.
"Ellen?" said he, glancing at her with an inquiring look, probably
satisfied that she had come to plead for the return of her son to the
place from which he had been discharged.
It did not occur to him that human impudence could extend so far as to
permit such people to bring a suit against him for their rights,
however well defined or clearly established. If he owed them anything,
or they had any claims against him, it was their duty to be solemnly
impressed by the loftiness of his social position, and humbly to beg
for what belonged to them.
"I thought I would come up and see you this morning, Mr. Checkynshaw,"
stammered the poor woman; and poverty had so subdued her, and so broken
her spirit, that she hardly knew how to introduce the subject upon her
mind.
"If you come to ask me to take Fitz back, it will do no good. You
permit the puppy to insult me," replied the banker, in the most
forbidding tones.
"I don't permit him to insult you. I did what I could to make him speak
properly to you," replied Mrs. Wittleworth, meekly.
"It's all the same; it was bad bringing up. I can't have him in my
office again," added Mr. Checkynshaw, though at that moment, for some
reason best known to himself, he would have been very glad to forgive
the young man's insolence, and take him back at double salary. "That
boy has outraged my good-nature. When I saw how hard the times were
with you, I was willing to give him double wages; but the ingrate only
insulted me for it."
"He is very wilful; I wish he was not so headstrong."
"I can't take him back now; at least not till he has apologized for his
impudence, and promised better things for the future," continued the
banker, shaking his head, as though his mind was firmly made up for the
issue.
"I did not come to ask you to take him back," added Mrs. Wittleworth.
"O, you didn't!"
"No, sir; he is not yet willing to come."
"What did you come for--to beg?"
"I don't come to you to beg," replied she with a little display of
spirit.
"What do you want, then?"
"You mustn't be angry with me, Mr. Checkynshaw."
"I'm not angry with you. If you have anything to say, say it. I hate
long stories," said the banker, impatiently.
"Fitz has taken it into his head that the block of stores which my
father gave to Mary belongs to us," continued Mrs. Wittleworth, looking
down to the floor, as if fearful that the great man's glance would
blast her if she beheld it.
"Has he, indeed?"
If Mrs. Wittleworth had looked at the banker instead of the floor, she
might have seen that his face flushed slightly; that his lip quivered,
and his chest heaved; but, as she did not look at him, the banker had
time to suppress these tell-tale emotions.
"He thinks so; and he seems to be determined that something shall be
done about it," added the poor woman, still gazing intently at the
floor.
"And you encourage such ridiculous notions--do you, Ellen?" said Mr.
Checkynshaw, severely.
"I don't know that I encourage them. I can't help his thoughts."
"Probably you don't wish to help them. Well, you can do as you please
about it. If you choose to get him and yourself into difficulty, I
suppose nothing I can say will have any influence with you."
"I don't want to get into trouble, or to spend any money in going to
law."
"I should judge, from the appearance of your house, that you hadn't
much to spend in that way," sneered the banker.
"I have not, indeed. I said all I could to dissuade Fitz from doing
anything about the matter; but he is bent upon it. He has been to see
Mr. Choate about it."
"To see Mr. Choate!" exclaimed the banker, springing out of his chair;
and now his face was deadly pale.
But in an instant Mr. Checkynshaw was conscious that he was revealing
the weakness of his position, and he sat down in his chair again, with
a placid smile upon his face.
"Am I to understand that Fitz and you intend to fight me in the law
upon this matter?" demanded he, with a sardonic grin on his face,
indicating both fear and malice.
"Fitz says there will be no fighting about it. We are to bring a suit
to recover the property, according to the terms of my father's will,
with the income for ten years."
"Fitz says so--does he?"
"He thinks Marguerite died when your present wife had the cholera. He
says all you have to do is to produce the child. If you do, that will
be the end of it; if not, the property certainly belongs to us."
"What makes Fitz think that Marguerite is not living?" asked Mr.
Checkynshaw, more mildly than he had yet spoken.
"Well, he has his reasons," replied she, not quite certain that she
might not say something which would compromise her son.
"What are his reasons?"
"I don't know that it is necessary to mention them. I think myself it
is very strange that you haven't brought her home. She must be fifteen
years old by this time."
"That is her age."
"I don't want any trouble about this business, Mr. Checkynshaw; so I
thought I would come up and see you. Perhaps you can show me some
letters from Marguerite, or something else that will convince Fitz that
she is alive."
"I have no letters here."
"Have you any at your house?" asked Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Not that I am aware of. I never preserve any but business letters. If
I understand you, Ellen, Fitz's modest claim is for the block of stores
and the income of them for the last ten years."
"That's what he said."
"Are you aware of the amount of this claim?" asked the banker,
nervously.
"I don't know, exactly."
"I suppose not," said Mr. Checkynshaw, pausing to reflect. "I don't
wish to bring Marguerite home till her education is completed, and this
thing may cause me some annoyance."
"I'm sure I don't want to annoy you," pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Perhaps you do not; but Fitz does. If you refuse to be a party to this
suit, of course he can do nothing. He has no rights yet in the premises
himself, and he is under age."
"I think myself the matter ought to be settled up somehow or other,"
replied Mrs. Wittleworth, timidly. "I am so poor I can hardly keep soul
and body together, and Fitz has lost his place."
"I will give him his place, at ten dollars a week. I will see that you
have a good house, properly furnished, and a sufficient income to live
on. If I had known that you were so badly off, I should have done
something for you before. Why didn't you come to me?"
"I don't like to ask favors; besides, we have been able to get along
till times came on so hard this winter that I couldn't get any work."
"I don't wish to be bothered with this thing, and be compelled to go to
France in the middle of the winter after Marguerite. Fitz saw that he
could annoy me, and he has taken this means to vent his spite upon me.
But the suit depends upon you. He can do nothing without you. Mr.
Choate will have nothing to do with it. He doesn't take cases of this
kind; but Fitz can find some unprincipled lawyer who will undertake the
case, and compel me to derange my plans."
"Could you show me some letters from Marguerite, or some bill you have
paid for her board or tuition?"
"Perhaps I may be able to find something of the kind at my house. I'll
see. But I think we had better settle up this business between
ourselves, without Fitz."
Mr. Checkynshaw looked troubled, and Mrs. Wittleworth could see it now.
"How can we settle it, if you have nothing to show me to prove that
Marguerite is living?" asked the poor woman.
"Marguerite is living, or was eighteen months ago, when I was in
France."
"Haven't you heard from her for eighteen months?"
"Of course I have; but that is neither here nor there. I don't wish to
be annoyed in this way, or to have your son boasting that he has a
claim on me. I don't choose to submit to that sort of thing any longer.
Neither is it my intention to bring Marguerite home till she is
eighteen years old. She is very much attached to the institution in
which she spent her childhood."
"I should think you would wish to see her oftener than once in two
years," added Mrs. Wittleworth, the remark prompted by her woman's
heart.
"So I would. But you know just how it is. I can't bring her home
without having trouble in my family; and she is perfectly happy where
she is. I ought to have done more for you, Ellen, than I have; but I
didn't know the world went so hard with you. I blame myself for not
thinking more about it; but I am plunged in business, so that I hardly
have time to think of my own family. I don't see how I can do it in any
other way than by settling a fixed sum upon you at once. Then I can do
all that I have to do at one time, and you will not have to depend upon
my bad memory."
"I'm sure I've no claims on you of that kind," replied Mrs.
Wittleworth, amazed at this outburst of generosity.
"I know you have no legal claims upon me; but you are the sister of my
first wife. I have not forgotten her yet, and I never shall," continued
Mr. Checkynshaw, with a gush of sentiment such as the poor woman had
never before seen proceed from him. "Property from your father's estate
came into my family, and it would not be right for me to permit you to
want for the comforts of life, to say nothing of the necessities. I'm
going to do something for you here and now--something so that you shall
not be dependent upon Fitz, whether I forget you for the time or not.
Do you think you could live on the income of ten thousand dollars a
year? That would be six hundred dollars, or about twelve dollars a
week."
"That is more than I have had for years," gasped Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Very well; I will give you a check for that sum; or I will invest it
for you in the best paying stocks I can find."
"You are too good! I did not expect this!" exclaimed the poor woman,
wiping the tears from her eyes.
"I shall do no more than my duty--what I ought to have done before,"
replied the banker, magnanimously. "And, by the way, it would be as
well for you to sign a paper, so as to set this business at rest, and
prevent Fitz from annoying me," said the banker, as he took down his
check-book, and shuffled the papers about the desk with assumed
indifference.
"What paper am I to sign?" asked Mrs. Wittleworth, beginning to open
her eyes.
"I mean a quitclaim deed on the block of stores; but of course that has
nothing to do with the ten thousand dollars I am to pay you."
Mrs. Wittleworth knew what a quitclaim deed was. It was a deed by which
she relinquished all her right, title, and interest in the block of
stores.
"I think I will not sign it to-day, Mr. Checkynshaw," said she, rather
fearfully.
The banker urged her in vain. Fitz had warned her against such a step,
and she had more confidence in Fitz's judgment at that moment than ever
before.
"Very well; I will have the deed drawn, and fill out the check ready
for you the next time you call," added the banker, more disappointed
than his manner indicated.
Mrs. Wittleworth went home.