Chapter 15

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.