CHAPTER IX.

BOB CALLS ON A LAWYER.

"There!" said Bob, when his uncle's gates had closed behind him and the carriage was fairly under way for his new home; "I hope I shall never go inside those grounds again unless my father is here to go with me. Now, Ben, I would like to know what you mean by going inside that saloon? You wouldn't have done so when my father was here."

"No indeed, I wouldn't," said Ben, with a hearty shake of his head. "But the truth was I didn't have a heart for any work, and somehow I wanted to be near where I could see the ships come in. But I don't owe him no twenty dollars for grub and lodging."

"Did you ever spend a cent in his house?"

"Yes, sir. I have treated some of my old mates, but I paid him right down. As for lodging, you will say, when you see my little house, that I don't need to go to the saloon to find a bed."

"Then I wouldn't pay him a cent. Don't you go near him again. He is worse than I ever thought him. He's a land-shark. But, Ben, I don't believe that Barlow had anything to do with my father's disappearance."

"No more do I; but the question is, who did? If it hadn't been for what Barlow said when he thought I was asleep I should think the cap'n was dead; but he says he is liable to come back when nobody isn't expecting him. I tell you, that proves something."

"It certainly does," said Bob, becoming excited. "I will see Mr. Gibbons about it this afternoon."

"That's what I say. That man can see through it, if anybody can. Barlow says it is no concern of his; but I'll bet if he is brought up before a court of law he'll have to tell something he don't want to."

Bob became all life and animation now. The idea that Barlow might tell something that was no concern of his made him impatient to see a lawyer and find out what he thought about it. The Mr. Gibbons of whom Bob had spoken was an old-time friend of his father's, and he was sure that if there was a flaw in the will that gentleman would find it out.

Meanwhile the carriage sped on, and in a few moments drew up in front of Ben's house. It was a small place, surrounded by about half an acre of ground, and so hemmed in by bushes and trees that one could scarcely see it from the road. The garden occupied almost all Ben's attention. It was only when he grew lonesome and longed for his old captain that he went down to Barlow's, to be where he could see the vessels come in, and he never spent any money there except what he was able to "pay right down." His story that Ben was indebted to him was made up all out of his own head.

"So this is where you live?" said Bob, after the trunks had been carried in on the porch and the hackman discharged. "It seems to me that you ought to be contented here."

"I am," replied Ben. "I call this my 'ordinary,' for I have never been satisfied to live here only until my cap'n comes back. I believe now that he is alive, and that some day I'll see his old gray head coming in here. My gracious! wouldn't that be fine?"

"I tell you it would," said Bob, seating himself in the nearest chair, "but I am most afraid of it. Any way, we'll make Barlow tell what he knows. Now, what have you got for dinner? I have not had a bite to eat since I have been at my uncle's."

"Well, you go in and start a fire in the stove and I'll soon have dinner ready for you. You will find everything arranged there as it used to be in the Anchorage."

Bob went into the house, and Ben bent his steps for the garden to gather some fresh vegetables for dinner. The Anchorage was the name Watson had applied to the house Captain Nellis had given him because he thought he wasn't going to move any more. He thought he was going to live and die under that roof. When Mr. Layton told the old fellow that he was done with his services, Ben was almost heart-broken. He tried to argue the point with that gentleman, but when the latter told him that he had hired negroes to take the places of all the house-servants, Ben had nothing more to say.

"Niggers!" he said in disgust. "I can remember the time, and it was not so very long ago, when the niggers were slaves and glad to take what they could get, and now they come around and crowd a white man out of his place. This house won't stand a great while."

Bob started a fire in the stove, and that was easy enough, for everything was handy, and then went into the bedroom to examine things there. His bunk was nicely made up on the side opposite Ben's, as if the old fellow had been expecting him that very night. All the war relics were there, too, which Bob had not been able to find room for in his apartments at home, including a model of the rebel iron-clad Atlanta, just as she appeared on the day that Ben helped sink her.

"I almost believe I am in the old room at the Anchorage," said Bob. "There is one thing sure: Barlow will have a time getting at me here to shanghai me. I'd like to see him try it. And to think that my cousin should uphold him in such a trick! I tell you, that beats me."

Bob put some more wood on the fire and then went out on the porch to wait for Ben. He was so long in coming that finally Bob got impatient and strolled through the bushes to meet him. The way he took led him to the beach, and almost the first thing he saw was the ten-ton schooner in which he had taken so much delight in going fishing and exploring the inlets of the bay. He had so many things to think of that he had forgotten all about her until he caught sight of her. It did not seem possible that his father would have taken his schooner away from him, even if he had made a codicil to his will, and he determined to speak to Mr. Gibbons about it that very afternoon.

"It is bad enough to have taken my horses without saying a word to me, but I didn't believe he would so far forget himself as to take my schooner," said Bob, seating himself upon the grass. "If he had only left me that and the ponies I should have been satisfied—that is, if he is dead; but that is something I won't believe until I receive proof of it. Now, then, what has become of Ben?"

Barlow's chance words, that it was no concern of his what he had seen on that stormy morning, had put Bob on his mettle, but for all that, he was not inclined to put faith in anything that man said or did; consequently he was disposed to make the best of a bad bargain. He had all along supposed that his father was dead, but the hint Barlow had thrown out that he might turn up again when nobody was expecting him worked a change in Bob in spite of all he could do to prevent it. But he intended to wait until he could see Mr. Gibbons about it.

"I won't put any confidence in what that old land-shark said," soliloquized Bob, stretching himself out flat on the grass. "If Mr. Gibbons says he is alive I will believe it; and if he says he is dead, I shall believe that, too. I will think no more about it. I am ready for anything that happens. There's Ben; he has been to town. I object to his going on in this way in regard to me; but first I am going to speak about that boat. Say," he added, rising to his feet and taking some of the parcels from the old sailor, "do you see that boat over there?"

"Yes; and I know it's your'n."

"It ought not to have been taken away from me, ought it?"

"No; nor your ponies, either."

"That's all right. I shall speak to Mr. Gibbons about it this afternoon. Now, Ben, what made you go to town? Don't you know that I can live on the grub that you do?"

"Say, Bob," replied the sailor, who did not care to argue this point, "you haven't had any scouse or dough-boy lately, have you? Well, now, you just sit down in that chair and watch me get them ready for you. I'll have them ready while you are thinking about it."

Ben enforced the order by pushing Bob into the nearest chair, while he went on dishing up the scouse and dough-boy. While Ben worked he talked about almost everything else than the subject that was upper-most in Bob's mind, and when at last the dinner was ready they sat down to it with most ravenous appetites. They took their time, and it was nearly an hour before they had got all they wanted, and when the dishes had been washed and put away, Bob announced that he was going to see a lawyer.

"You don't want to let grass grow under your feet," said Ben. "Go and see him at once and have the matter settled. It's my opinion that there is something in that codicil that will benefit you."

Bob closed the gate behind him, and with long and earnest strides took his way to the lawyer's office. Of course he met many persons along the road who had not seen him before, and they all wanted to stop and shake him by the hand; but Bob thought there was a little sadness mixed with it all. They would have felt a great deal better if they knew that he was the heir to his father's property.

"Everybody in town seems to feel that way," soliloquized Bob, as he ran up the steps that led to the lawyer's office. "I don't know but I am the heir, after all."

Pushing open the door of the lawyer's office, he found the gentleman of whom he was in search alone. He had his feet elevated upon his desk and was examining some legal documents. When he saw who his visitor was he got up from his chair and greeted him with cordiality.

"Why, Bob, how are you?" he exclaimed. "I heard you had come home, but I didn't expect to see you. Sit down."

"Are you quite alone?" inquired Bob, accepting the proffered hand.

"I am all alone. Did you want to see me?"

"Yes. And I wish you would lock your door, so that no one can come in to bother us. I wish to have a few moments' conversation with you."

The lawyer's face fell. He knew that Bob had come there to see him about the will. He locked the door and sat down and looked at Bob without speaking.

"You used to have a good deal to do with my father's business during his lifetime, Mr. Gibbons?" began Bob.

"I had a great deal to do with it until he got that rascally brother-in-law of his to take my place," replied Mr. Gibbons.

"Do you call him rascally?" inquired Bob.

"Yes; and so would anybody else. You ought to be the heir to the property your father left, and I know it."

"Well, is he dead? That's what I want to know."

"I am sorry to say that there's no doubt about that," said Mr. Gibbons, gazing thoughtfully out of the window. "Everything goes to prove it. It was an awful stormy night on the bay, and the next morning in came his boat, half-filled with water. His hat was lying loose in the boat, and two or three days afterward his fish-pole was picked up. Oh, there's no doubt about his being dead."

"Did they find the body?"

"Why, no. It was probably swept out to sea."

"Is there any way in which I can contest the will?"

"Did you sign a paper?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes, I signed some sort of a paper, but I was in such a flurry that I didn't take time to examine it. The lawyer that was with him told me that it was just a form."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know who it was. He was a stranger to me."

The lawyer got up and searched his desk for some paper that he was anxious to find. Presently he brought out a document entitled, "Notice for Probate of Will." Holding the paper in his hand he pointed to a note printed in smaller letters, and said:

"Did you sign such a thing as this: 'I hereby accept full service and waive all time of Notice of the within Citation.' Did you sign that?"

"It seems to me that I did; but I would not be positive."

"And the lawyer told you that it was a mere form? And when he got you back at school your uncle put these papers in to probate, and after that he had you just where he wanted you."

"That is just about the way of it, I guess."

"Bob, you are the most confiding boy I ever saw. You ought not to have signed that citation. You have put it out of your power to contest the will. You ought to have a guardian appointed for you."

This was a very unwelcome piece of news to Bob, but he did not rebel against it. He knew that the lawyer was in a situation to understand such matters better than he was.

"I am sorry, but I can see no other way than for you to accept the situation," said Mr. Gibbons. "By the way, what sort of a penman is that uncle of yours?"

"He writes a very poor hand, but I can make out to read it. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, but I just happened to think of it. You haven't seen a copy of the will, have you? Well, I will have a copy here to-morrow, and you can see what your father says in that codicil. I know he didn't intend to take away everything you had."

"Then he wouldn't have taken away my boat?"

"Certainly not. Nor your ponies, either."

"Do you think I would be doing wrong if I should go down there and run my boat up to Ben's house, where I am living now?"

"Of course not," replied the lawyer, glad to bring the interview to a close. "I will go with you."

Mr. Gibbons put on his hat, and together they started toward the place where the boat was moored. It was on the beach opposite an old fisherman's shanty, and when they arrived there they were gratified to find the man sitting on the bench beside the door, enjoying his pipe. He was delighted to see Bob. He remembered that, just before he started to school, he had given the old fisherman a few pieces of silver, with instructions to keep an eye on his schooner, and had always found everything all right about her when he returned.

"The top of the morning to you, Mister Bob," said the man, extending his hand. "The schooner is all right and tight. Be you wanting her this morning?"

"There hasn't been anybody aboard of her since I left?" said Bob.

"Nary soul," answered the man. "She's yours, and Gus Layton ain't got no business with her."

"I guess it's all right, Bob," said Mr. Gibbons, turning away. "You can take her home with you. Remember, I shall have a copy of that will to-morrow. Good-bye."

"Say, Mister Bob, is it true that old Layton has got all of your property?" said the old fisherman, whose name was Oakes. "I think it's a mighty mean piece of business. Do you want to go off to her? Jump into my boat. I'll get the key to the cabin."

"I don't think I am doing right until I see the codicil," said Bob, hesitatingly. "If father thought I could have her, well and good; if he didn't, I wouldn't touch her."

"Who's going to have her, then?" exclaimed Oakes. "Not your cousin, I bet you. I've seen him since he come back, driving your ponies around, and I tell you I wanted to take them away from him. Get into the boat and I will soon set you aboard. Where are you living now; up to Ben's? Then there's nothing to hinder you from taking her right up there."

Mr. Oakes got the key to the cabin, and, seizing Bob by the arm, was gently forcing him into the boat when a loud shout came to their ears. The two looked up and saw Hank Lufkin coming toward them. He was a boy who stood well in that community, although he was nothing but a market-shooter. His clothes were patched, but aside from that he looked as neat as a new pin. Rumor said he didn't get along very smoothly when he was at home, and perhaps you will know the reason when we say that his father was a lazy, do-nothing sort of fellow, and every cent Hank made he had to hide, for fear his father would get hold of it. His mother kept an account of all his earnings, while his father was obliged to live from hand to mouth, spending such sums as he could make by sawing wood about the village. If he had owned a boat he would have been all right, for then he would have gone a-fishing; but every day he was obliged to stand on shore and watch other men when they returned with the cargoes which they had gathered from their nets—men no better than he was, he often declared—and of course he did not feel very jubilant over it. And right there was what was the matter with Mr. Lufkin; he was jealous of anybody who held a position he could not hold himself, but he never thought of going to work to better his own condition.

"I am just as good as they are," said Mr. Lufkin to his wife, "and I'll bet you that nobody gives me a boat."

"Why, those men had to earn their boats," said his wife. "If you would just throw off your coat and go to work you could soon have one."

"Work! I might work till I am gray-headed, and I wouldn't be nearer a boat than I am now. Mark my words: I'll have a boat before another year passes over my head."

This was the kind of a man that Hank Lufkin lived with, and of course his life was not a happy one. Hank did not own a boat, but he had an old-fashioned single-barreled gun with which he managed to kill a few squirrels and quails, and by sitting for long hours on the end of the pier he often succeeded in catching a string of flounders which the neighbors were always willing to buy; but Hank was not satisfied. He wanted a boat as bad as his father did, but he was willing to work to earn it. Just now his prospects were rather dim. There hadn't been much shooting lately, and the fish seemed to have gone somewhere else; so Hank didn't have much to do, and he was ready to go with Bob anywhere he wanted to sail, for Hank knew Bob well. He always made some money when he went fishing with him.

"Halloo, Hank!" exclaimed Bob, as he came up. "Are you very busy? Then get in with me and help me navigate this schooner up the bay."

Hank was just waiting for this invitation, and, besides, he had something he wanted to show to Bob and ask him what he thought about it. He shook hands with him and got into the boat, picked up an oar and pulled off to the Curlew, for that was the name by which Bob's ten-ton schooner was known.