Chapter 25

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.

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.