ME AND CHOATE.
"A puppy!" hissed through the teeth of Fitz, when the door closed
behind the great man. "The blood of the Wittleworths boils!"
"Then you had better let the blood of the Wittleworths cool off, my
son," added his mother, who had no taste for the grandiloquent.
"He called me a puppy--called _me_ a puppy!"
"You shouldn't bark so loud, then. I don't know that any but puppies
interrupt people who are busy in conversation. When will you learn to
keep still, Fitz?"
"When! When justice and humanity no longer require me to speak in tones
of thunder against oppression! Mother, we have struck the enemy a fatal
blow! Didn't you see him cringe?"
"No, I didn't see him cringe. I am only sorry that I consented to have
this suit brought against Mr. Checkynshaw."
"O, mother! After all, you are only a woman!"
"Stop your nonsensical talk, Fitz! Why don't you go out and try to find
a place to work?"
"A place to work!" sneered Fitz. "In a few weeks--be it a few months,
if you please--we shall be in possession of that block of stores, with
fifty thousand dollars in the bank. What need have I of a place?
Besides, I have this trial to look out for."
"I think your father can attend to that better without you than with
you."
"Father means well, and I trust he will do well," added the hopeful
son, patronizingly. "But father's infirmity has weakened him. He is
only the ghost of what he was."
"Are you not ashamed of yourself to speak of your father in that way,
Fitz? Don't you make another such remark as that; if you do, you shall
not stay in the house with him. Your father has more knowledge and
experience in one hair of his head than you have in the whole of your
silly brain."
"Was I not right about this affair? Have I not persisted, from the
beginning, that the child was dead?"
"That remains to be proved."
"I think I understand this business better than any other man; and if
you are beaten in the suit, it will only be because father does not
take my advice. I have studied the case. I have given my whole, my
undivided attention to the matter for several weeks."
"It would have been better if you had given your undivided attention to
something else."
"Mother, I see that you are bound to follow after foolishness rather
than wisdom. But I cannot forget that I am your son, and that you are
my mother. I shall not willingly permit your interests to be
sacrificed. I advised father to retain Choate. He has not seen fit to
do so. This shows that he don't understand the matter; that he does not
comprehend the difficulty in fighting a man like Checkynshaw, who is
both wealthy and influential. Choate can carry the case. Choate is a
friend of mine--Choate is; and I am going to see to it that Choate
don't stand in a false position before the country in this great case."
"You silly fellow! What are you going to do now?" demanded Mrs.
Wittleworth.
"I'm going to see Choate," replied Fitz, putting on his cap.
His mother protested against any and all steps which her son might
take; but Fitz left the house. He had a supreme contempt for the
every-day practical wisdom of his father and mother, and believed that
failure could result only from their neglect to hear and heed his sage
counsels. He actually went to the office of the distinguished gentleman
who stood at the head of the legal profession, and who had been a
member of the United States Senate. Mr. Choate was a very gentlemanly
man, affable and kind to all, to whatever sphere in life they belonged.
He spoke with gentleness and consideration to the boy as well as to the
man.
[Illustration: ME AND CHOATE.--Page 295.]
Fitz had been the errand boy in the office of the eminent lawyer, and,
of course, had practically experienced the kindness of his nature and
the gentleness of his manner. Fitz "felt big," and put on airs, even
when he was a smaller boy than now. Mr. Choate appreciated genuine
humor, and it is more than probable that he enjoyed the "big talk" of
the office boy. Perhaps he was more familiar with him on this account
than he otherwise would have been.
Fitz did not find the distinguished gentleman in his office the first
time he went there; but he repeated the call till he did find him. The
eloquent advocate received him very graciously, as he did everybody who
had any claim upon his attention. Fitz stated his business as briefly
as he could.
"I cannot attend to the case," said the great lawyer, very kindly, but
very decidedly.
"Excuse me, Mr. Choate; but this is a case of no little importance.
Ever since I was in your office, I have had the highest opinion of you,
both as a man and a lawyer."
"I thank you for your favorable consideration," replied the eminent
orator, soberly.
"If there is any man on the earth whom I respect and esteem above all
others, that man is Mr. Choate."
"I hope always to prove worthy of your regard."
"I come to you now, sir, as a friend--for I am proud and happy to
consider you as such. You were always very kind to me."
"I trust I have always recognized your great merit."
"You have, sir; and the boast of my life will be, that I have been
associated with you in your office."
"You do me honor; and I shall always hold in grateful remembrance the
distinguished service you rendered us here."
"It is glorious to be appreciated, Mr. Choate. You are appreciated, Mr.
Choate. Folks know you, and look up to you. They believe you are
_some_."
"I am grateful for their and your appreciation. But, really, Mr.
Wittleworth, I must beg you to excuse me, for I have important business
before me," added the lawyer, nervously turning over a bundle of
papers, covered with strange characters, which no mortal man could
read; for they were more inexplicable than Chinese and Syriac to a
Yankee farmer.
"Pardon me for detaining you yet a moment longer," pleaded Fitz,
placing himself in the centre of the room, with his hat under his arm.
"This is a case of wrong and injustice, of oppression and usurpation.
My mother is the rightful heir to a block of stores in this city, which
the greed of avarice withholds from her. Me and father have taken up
the matter. We have been foully wronged;" and Mr. Wittleworth threshed
his arm, and waxed eloquent. "The heel of injustice has been placed
upon our necks. Mr. Choate, you are the people's advocate. Rising
superior to all hopes of fee or reward, you raise your eloquent voice
in behalf of the widow and the orphan. You plead at the bar of justice
for the rights of the down-trodden. Your voice is like a trumpet,
and--"
"So is yours; I beg you will not speak so loud. What do you wish me to
do?" interposed Mr. Choate.
Fitz explained what he wished the great orator to do--to raise his
voice in behalf of the oppressed, meaning his mother and himself; and
he soon became quite stormy again. His single auditor, evidently amused
by this display of rhetoric, permitted him to go on.
"Who has the block of stores now?" asked Mr. Choate, when Fitz began to
be out of breath.
"Mr. Checkynshaw, the banker."
"Ah, indeed! I am very sorry, but I am already retained on the other
side."
"On the other side!" gasped Fitz.
"I am; and really, Mr. Wittleworth, you must excuse me now.
"On the other side!" repeated Fitz. "Can it be that the mighty name of
Choate is to be linked with injustice and oppression? I will not
believe it! I counted something upon your friendship for me, Mr.
Choate."
The great orator was evidently trying to read some of the strange
characters in the manuscript before him, and, regardless of what Fitz
was saying, had relapsed into a fit of abstraction, which effectually
placed him out of the reach of Mr. Wittleworth's reproaches. The sheets
looked as though a fish-worm had come out of the inkstand, and crawled
over the virgin page. It was doubtful whether he was able to read
anything he had written, and possibly he was trying to remember what he
had intended to commit to the paper.
Fitz, finding that the distinguished gentleman took no further notice
of him, put on his hat, and marched in stately grandeur out of the
office. The great man had sunk considerably in his estimation, though,
as a matter of history, he was never pained by having the fact brought
to his knowledge.
Mr. Wittleworth had a great deal of confidence in abstract right and
justice. If Mr. Choate pleaded the cause of Mr. Checkynshaw, he would
in this instance be beaten. It would be a good lesson to the great
lawyer, and Mr. Wittleworth magnanimously hoped that he would profit by
it. He was to lose all the glory, honor, and immortality to be gained
by being on the right side in the great case of Wittleworth _vs._
Checkynshaw; but it was not Mr. Wittleworth's fault. He had given him
an opportunity to enlist under the banner of truth and justice, and he
had refused to do so. It was his own choice, and he must abide the
consequences. Mr. Wittleworth rather pitied him, for he always had a
very tender regard for the reputation of his friends.
Mr. Wittleworth was compelled to rely upon the skill and knowledge of
the legal gentleman whom his father had employed to conduct the suit;
but he had faith that justice was on his side, and must prevail in the
end. He waited--he could not do anything but wait--until the day
assigned for the hearing of the case arrived. Mr. Wittleworth took a
seat with his father and mother within the bar, on this, as it seemed
to him, most momentous occasion the world had ever seen.
Mr. Checkynshaw appeared by counsel, and asked for a continuation of
the case for a reasonable time to enable him to bring his daughter from
France. The banker's business lawyer said a few words in making the
request, and then Mr. Choate, who had been employed by the banker, as
well as retained, added the weight of his personal influence to the
application. To the intense disgust of Mr. Wittleworth, it was granted
so promptly that he hardly knew what had happened. Another case was
called, and the Wittleworths went home.
Though Mr. Checkynshaw had threatened to sue them for the money he had
paid, nothing more was said or heard from the action. Fitz assured his
father and mother that the banker could not produce his daughter, and
that the case would not come to trial. If they were only firm and
decided with him, Mr. Checkynshaw would give up the block of stores,
and pay over the back rents. He must do so, or his reputation would be
blasted forever. He must stand before the world as a knave and a
swindler, unless he did full and ample justice to the widow (who had a
husband), and the orphan (who had a father and mother); for Mr.
Wittleworth, when he waxed eloquent, had a habit of confounding terms.
About a week after the hearing which had been cut short so suddenly,
Fitz, deeming it his duty to look after the witnesses in the great case
of Wittleworth _vs._ Checkynshaw, thought it advisable to call one
evening at No. 3 Phillimore Court. The door was locked, and the house
was dark. He repeated the call every evening for a week, but with no
better result. Then he went in the daytime. No one answered his knock,
and the door was as unyielding as a rock of granite.
Mr. Wittleworth was bewildered. Mr. Checkynshaw had done this! He had
spirited away the chief witness. Fitz went to the barber's shop, and
inquired for Andre. He had left his place ten days before. Fitz met Leo
on the street one day, a month later.
"Where do you live now?" he asked.
"I am boarding in Gridley Street."
"Where are Maggie and your father?"
"Gone to France with Mr. Checkynshaw after his daughter," replied Leo,
hurrying on his way; for, make or break, he intended to be at school in
season.
Mr. Wittleworth scratched his head and looked foolish. Mr. Checkynshaw
appeared to be flanking him.