Chapter 14

WITTLEWORTH _vs._ CHECKYNSHAW.

Mr. Checkynshaw did a rushing business on the day his papers were stolen from the safe; therefore he rushed out of the humble abode of Mrs. Wittleworth. It is more than probable that he was entirely sincere when he called Fitz an idiot; but whether he was or not, that young gentleman's mother was satisfied that truer words had never been spoken. The banker had actually offered to give him ten dollars a week, and Fitz had declined to return. It was a degree of lunacy which she could neither understand nor appreciate. She was both grieved and angry. She wept, and reproached the reckless youth.

"I must give up in despair, Fitz," said she, bitterly. "If I could support you, I would."

"I don't want you to support me, mother," replied Fitz, stung by the reproach. "If you will leave this matter to me, I will manage it right."

"Leave it to you, Fitz! That would bring starvation to our door."

"No, mother; you look on the dark side. Here's five dollars for my week's salary," he added, handing her the money. "I give you the whole of it this week."

"This may keep off the wolf for a week or two," sighed Mrs. Wittleworth.

"I shall get into another place soon, mother; don't worry about it."

"But why didn't you take the place when he offered it to you at double wages, Fitz? It seems to me you are crazy."

"No, I am not crazy. I know what I am about, and Checkynshaw knows what he is about. What do you suppose induced him to double my salary so readily?"

"Because he saw how poor we were."

"What does he care for that? There is no more soul in him than there is in a brickbat, mother. It wouldn't trouble him if you starved to death--though you are his first wife's sister. That wasn't the reason."

"What was the reason, then, Fitz?" asked she, curiously.

"Checkynshaw is afraid of me," replied Fitz, stopping in his walk up and down the room, and looking into his mother's face to note the effect of this startling announcement.

"Afraid of you, Fitz! You are losing your senses!" exclaimed she, with an expression of strong disgust.

"It's just as I say, mother. He's afraid of me."

"Why should he be afraid of you? You are not so very terrible as to alarm a man in his position."

"Mother, that block of stores ought to be yours. You should have had the income of it ever since Checkynshaw came from France with his wife. I tell you that child died of the cholera, when Mrs. Checkynshaw had it. That is just as plain to me as the nose on a man's face."

"Nonsense, Fitz! Do you suppose Mr. Checkynshaw would keep me out of it if it belonged to me?"

"I know he would. I know the man. I haven't been in his office two years for nothing. I keep my eyes open--_I_ do," answered Fitz, holding up his head till his neck was stretched to its full length. "Checkynshaw may be an honest man, as things go; but you can't make me believe he would give up that block of stores while he could hold on to it by hook or by crook. He wants me under his thumb, where he can know what I'm about. He has lost his papers, and he feels nervous about them. In my opinion, there's something or other among those documents which would let the light in upon that block of stores. That's why he is so anxious to find out where they are. That's why he don't care for the money that was stolen. He knows what he is about, and I know what I'm about."

"What is the use for us to think anything about the block of stores? You don't know that little Marguerite died," added Mrs. Wittleworth, interested, in spite of herself, in the extravagant pretensions of her son.

"I don't know it, I admit; but I think we ought to find out. Checkynshaw says the child is still living with the Sisters of Charity, somewhere in France. We have nothing but his word for it."

"That's enough. He says the child is living, and he don't like to have her ill-treated by her mother-in-law. She is happy at the boarding school, and when her education is finished, doubtless she will come home."

"That's all bosh! Did any one ever see a letter from her? Did Checkynshaw ever write a letter to her? Does he ever send her any money?"

"But he goes to see her every year or two, when he visits Europe."

"Perhaps he does, and then perhaps he don't. Did any one else ever see the child? Has any one any knowledge of her existence except through Checkynshaw? I think not. Don't tell me, mother, that a man would leave his daughter in a foreign country for ten years, and only go to see her every year or two. In my opinion,--and I think my opinion is worth something,--the child died in the hospital. Checkynshaw keeps up this fiction because it puts five or six thousand dollars a year into his pocket. No one has ever claimed the block of stores, and of course he will hold on to it till some one does."

Mrs. Wittleworth could not help thinking, while starvation or the almshouse stared her full in the face, what a blessing that block of stores would be to her. If her sister's child was dead, it rightfully belonged to her. It was certainly proper for Mr. Checkynshaw to prove that Marguerite was still living, or at least to satisfy her privately on the point.

"What can we do, Fitz?" she asked.

"What can we do, mother? That's the question. When I was in Summer Street, this evening, I thought I would call upon my friend Choate. Choate is a gentleman and a scholar--he is."

"Pshaw, Fitz!" ejaculated the poor woman. "Why _will_ you talk about your friend Choate? He is not your friend. He would not touch you with a ten-foot pole. He looks down upon you from an infinite height."

"Not he. Choate always treats everybody like a gentleman. He always treated me like a gentleman. I believe in Choate--I do."

"It is ridiculous for you to talk about his being your friend."

"He is my friend in very deed. I called upon him at his residence, in Winthrop Place, this evening. He treated me like a gentleman. He was glad to see me. He shook hands with me, and welcomed me to his house, as though I had been the governor of the state. Everett was there, and Winthrop came in before I left. I heard them speak of Webster, and I suppose he was expected. I was introduced to Everett and Winthrop."

"You!" exclaimed his mother.

"I, mother!"

"Poor child, they were making fun of you!" sighed Mrs. Wittleworth.

"Not they. Everett bowed to me as gracefully as though I had been the President. Winthrop was a little stiff; but what did I care for him, as long as Choate and Everett were on good terms with me?"

"Your head is turned, Fitz."

"No matter if it is, so long as it is turned in the right direction. Choate told Everett and Winthrop that I had formerly occupied a place in his office, and that he had a high regard for me. He smiled pleasantly, and so did Everett. Winthrop didn't take much notice of me. Choate asked me if I wanted to see him for anything particular. I told him I did; I wanted a little legal advice in the matter of Wittleworth _vs._ Checkynshaw. He smiled very kindly upon me; he smiled as only Choate can smile."

"What did he say to you?" demanded Mrs. Wittleworth, impatiently.

"He apologized for his inability to attend to the case at that time, as he was engaged upon a matter of politics with Everett and Winthrop; but he hoped he should find time to see me in the course of a week. Of course I didn't care about breaking up his conference with Everett and Winthrop; so I apologized for the interruption, and promised him I would call upon him at his office the next day."

"I suppose he was very sorry he could not attend to the case," added Mrs. Wittleworth.

"He appeared to be. He expressed his regrets; and, as he was attending to the affairs of the nation, I could not be hard on him, you know."

"Certainly not," said his mother, amused in spite of the weakness of her son.

"Choate is a good fellow--Choate is," added Fitz, rubbing his chin, and puffing out his lips. "When he gets hold of this case, he will make things fly, mother."

"What are you going to do, Fitz?" asked Mrs. Wittleworth, seriously.

"I'm not going to mince the matter any longer. I am going to bring a suit against Checkynshaw for the block of stores, and the income received from them for the last ten years," replied Fitz, magnificently.

"You are!"

"I am; that is, when I say I am, of course I am going to do it in your name, for I am the next heir to you. That will bring things to a head, and we shall soon find out whether Checkynshaw is ready to stand trial or not."

"We have no money to go to law with," pleaded the poor woman.

"We don't want any, mother. I have looked into this business, and what I don't know about it isn't worth knowing. I know something about law, for I used to keep my eyes and ears open when I was in the law business."

Mr. Wittleworth had been an errand boy in Mr. Choate's office!

"I don't think you can go to law without money, Fitz. I have always heard it was very expensive," added Mrs. Wittleworth.

"All we want, mother, is a copy of my grandfather's will. We attach the block of stores, if necessary. Under the will it belongs to you, unless Checkynshaw can produce your sister's child."

"Suppose he should produce her?"

"That's the very thing he can't do. If he does, of course our case falls to the ground; but he can't."

"But if he does produce the child, where is the money to pay the expenses?"

"The expenses won't be much. I shall say to Choate, 'Choate,' says I, 'here's a piece of property which belongs to my mother. You can go up to the Registry of Probate, and read the will yourself. Give my mother legal possession of it, and I will pay you five or ten thousand dollars'--I haven't just decided exactly what to offer him. He takes the case, brings the suit, and gets the property for you."

"Suppose he doesn't get it?"

"Then he will get nothing. When I was in the law business, cases were sometimes taken in this way."

Mrs. Wittleworth was encouraged by this hopeful statement, and disposed to let Fitz have his own way. Abject poverty was so terrible that she could not afford to lose such a chance. Mr. Checkynshaw's conduct in leaving his child in France, among strangers, for ten years, was singular enough to beget suspicion.

The conversation was continued till the fire went out, and the chill air of the room drove the intended litigants to their chambers. Fitz did not come down till breakfast time the next morning. He lay in his warm bed, building castles in the air, and thinking what a great man he should be when the block of stores and its revenues were reclaimed from the grasp of Mr. Checkynshaw. He thought it quite possible that he could then go into a barber's shop and be shaved without any one having the impudence to laugh at him.

Mrs. Wittleworth had thought a great deal about the property, but she could not quite make up her mind to take such decided steps as those indicated by her son. If the attempt was made, and proved to be a failure, Mr. Checkynshaw would never forgive her, and might injure her in revenge. When she came down stairs, she had decided to call upon the banker, and state the case to him. If he chose to satisfy her that Marguerite was still living, it would save trouble and future disappointment.

"You can see him if you like, mother. I have no doubt he will smooth you over. Checkynshaw is a plausible man--Checkynshaw is. He carries too many guns for a woman. I would call myself if it were not for letting myself down to his level," said Mr. Wittleworth, stroking his chin, when his mother was ready to go.

"Don't be so silly, Fitz!"

"Checkynshaw won't stand trial, in my opinion. He is shrewd--he is."

"I only intend to ask him what he means to do," added Mrs. Wittleworth.

"He means to hold on to the property--that's what he means to do, mother. He may try to buy you off--don't do it, on any account. Leave this matter all to me. Me and Choate will fix it right. Now, be careful what you do."

"I will not do anything," said his mother, as she put on her bonnet.

"I will see Choate to-day. Me and Choate will touch off a volcano under Checkynshaw's feet in the course of a week or two," he added, as his mother left the house.