Luck and Pluck

CHAPTER XX.
MRS. OAKLEY FINDS THE WILL

Mrs. Oakley commenced her examination of the old desk, thoroughly convinced that if the missing will were in existence at all, it was hidden there.

It was one of those old desks and bureaus combined, which were so common in the days of our grandfathers. In the drawers beneath, John had been accustomed to keep his clothing; in the desk above, writing materials, and some small articles of no particular importance. These he had not had time to remove before his unexpected departure.

Mrs. Oakley turned those over impatiently, and explored every drawer hurriedly. But she did not discover what she had expected to find. This first failure, however, did not surprise her. She did not expect to find the will lying loosely in any of the drawers. But she suspected that some one drawer might have a false bottom, beneath which the important document would prove to be concealed. She therefore carefully examined every drawer with a view to the discovery of such a place of concealment. But to her disappointment she obtained no clue. The drawers seemed honestly made. For the first time Mrs. Oakley began to doubt whether the will were really in existence. She had searched everywhere, and it could not be found.

"I wish I could be sure," she said to herself. "I would give five hundred dollars this minute to be sure that there was no will. Then I should feel secure in the possession of my money. But to feel that at any moment a paper may turn up depriving me of forty thousand dollars keeps me in constant anxiety."

She gave up the search for the day, having domestic duties to attend to. She tried to persuade herself that her fears and anxieties were without foundation, but in this she was unsuccessful. She permitted a day to slip by, but on the second day she again visited John's room. The old desk seemed to have a fascination for her.

This time she turned the desk around, and passed her hand slowly over the back. Just when she was about to relinquish the attempt in despair, success came.

Suddenly beneath her finger a concealed spring was unconsciously touched, and a thin drawer sprang from the recesses of the desk. Mrs. Oakley's eyes sparkled with the sense of approaching triumph, as she perceived carefully laid away therein a paper compactly folded.

With fingers trembling with nervous agitation she opened it. She had not been deceived. The missing will lay outspread before her! Mrs. Oakley read it carefully.

It was drawn up with the usual formalities, as might have been expected, being the work of a careful lawyer. It revoked all other wills of a previous date, and bequeathed in express terms two-thirds of the entire estate left by the testator to his only son, John. Squire Selwyn was appointed executor, and guardian of said John, should he be under age at the time of his father's death. The remaining third of the property was willed to Mrs. Jane Oakley, should she survive her husband; otherwise to her son Benjamin in the event of his mother's previous death.

Such was the substance of Squire Oakley's last will and testament, now for the first time revealed.

Mrs. Oakley read it with mingled feelings,—partly of indignation with her late husband that he should have made such a will, partly of joy that no one save herself knew of its existence. She held in her hand a document which in John Oakley's hands would be worth forty thousand dollars if she permitted him to obtain it. But she had no such intention. What should be done with it?

Should she lock it up carefully where it would not be likely to be found? There would be danger of discovery at any moment.

"It must be destroyed," she said to herself, resolutely. "There is no other way. A single match will make me secure in the possession of the estate."

Mrs. Oakley knew that it was a criminal act which she had in view; but the chance of detection seemed to be slight. In fact, since no one knew that such a will was in existence, though some might suspect it, there seemed to be no danger at all.

"Yes, it shall be destroyed and at once. There can be no reason for delay," she said firmly.

She crossed the entry into her own chamber, first closing the secret drawer, and moving the old desk back to its accustomed place. There was a candle on the mantel-piece, which she generally lighted at night. She struck a match, and lighted it now. This done, she approached the will to the flame, and the corner of the document so important to John Oakley caught fire, and the insidious flame began to spread. Mrs. Oakley watched it with exulting eyes, when a sudden step was heard at the door of her chamber, and, turning, she saw Hannah, the servant-girl, standing on the threshold, looking in.

Mrs. Oakley half rose, withdrawing the will from the candle, and demanded harshly:—

"What brought you here?"

"Shall I go out to the garden and get some vegetables for dinner?" asked Hannah.

"Of course you may. You needn't have come up here to ask," said her mistress, with irritation.

"I didn't know whether you would want any," said Hannah, defending herself. "There was some cold vegetables left from yesterday's dinner. I thought maybe you'd have them warmed over."

"Well, if there are enough left you may warm them. I'll come down just as soon as I can. I have been looking over some old papers of my husband's," she explained, rather awkwardly, perceiving that Hannah's eyes were bent curiously upon the will and the candle, "and burning such as were of no value. Do you know what time it is?"

"Most eleven, by the kitchen clock," said Hannah.

"Then you had better go down, and hurry about dinner."

"I can take down the old papers, and put them in the kitchen stove," suggested Hannah.

"It's of no consequence," said Mrs. Oakley, hastily. "I will attend to that myself."

"Mrs. Oakley seems queer this morning," thought Hannah, as she turned and descended the stairs to her professional duties in the kitchen. "I wonder what made her jump so when I came in, and what that paper is that she was burning up in the candle."

Hannah had never heard of the will, and was unacquainted with legal technicalities, and therefore her suspicions were not excited. She only wondered what made Mrs. Oakley seem so queer.

When she went out Mrs. Oakley sat in doubt.

"Hannah came in at a most unlucky moment," she said to herself, with vexation. "Could she have suspected anything? If she should breathe a word of this, and it should get to that lawyer's ears, I might get into trouble."

Mrs. Oakley held the will in her hand irresolutely. Should she follow out her first intention, and burn it? A feeling of apprehension as to the possible consequences of her act prevented her. The flame had gone out, leaving the corner scorched, and slightly burned; but apart from this the will was uninjured.

After a pause of deliberation, Mrs. Oakley blew out the candle, and, taking the will, opened the upper drawer of her bureau, and deposited it carefully inside. She locked it securely, and, putting the key in her pocket, went downstairs.

Before doing so, however, she went to the closet in which she kept her wardrobe, and, selecting a handsome silk cape, took it down with her.

"Hannah," she said, "here's a cape I shall not use again. It doesn't fit me exactly. If you would like it, it is yours."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the astonished Hannah, for this was the first present she had ever received from her mistress; "you're very kind indeed. It is an elegant cape."

"Yes, it is a nice one. I am glad you like it."

"The mistress must be crazy," thought the bewildered Hannah. "I never knew her to do such a thing before, and I've lived here three years come October."

CHAPTER XXI.
SQUIRE SELWYN'S CALL

Mrs. Oakley's door-bell rang, and Hannah answered the summons.

"Is Mrs. Oakley at home?" inquired Squire Selwyn, for it was he.

"Yes, sir. Will you walk in?"

"I think I will. Let her know that I wish to see her, if you please."

Hannah did as directed.

"Squire Selwyn?" asked Mrs. Oakley. "Where is he?"

"In the parlor."

"Very well. I will go in at once."

"Has he found out anything about John, I wonder?" thought Mrs. Oakley.

"Good-morning, sir," she said, as she entered the lawyer's presence.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Oakley."

"Is your family well?"

"Quite well. My son tells me that John has been absent from school for two or three days past."

"Yes."

"He is not sick, I suppose?"

"No."

"You will excuse my questions; but his father and myself were very intimate friends. Is he at home?"

"No, he is not."

"I suppose you have no objection to telling me where he is?"

"Suppose I have?" said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.

"Then I should think it very strange."

"You are at liberty to think it very strange," said Mrs. Oakley, composedly.

"Why should you object to telling me that he went away with your brother, Mr. Huxter, and is now at his house?"

Mrs. Oakley started in surprise. The lawyer was better informed than she supposed.

"If you knew," she answered, after a slight pause, "why need you inquire?"

"I wished to know whether you had sent him away, intending to keep his destination a secret."

"I suppose he has written to you."

"He did write to me; but the letter was suppressed by your brother. May I inquire whether this was by your wish?"

"What you tell me is news to me," said Mrs. Oakley; "but I have no hesitation in saying that my brother understands my wishes, and will carry them out."

"I am answered," said the lawyer. "Is it your intention to permit John to continue his studies preparatory for college?"

"It is not."

"It was his father's wish and intention. That wish ought to be sacred with you."

"I understand my duty."

"I trust you will do something more than understand it," said the lawyer, gravely. "I must remonstrate with you on your intentions with regard to John. He is an excellent scholar, and his abilities are superior. It would be a great pity that he should be debarred from the privilege of a college education."

"You say he is an excellent scholar," said Mrs. Oakley. "Then, if his education is already so excellent, there is no further need of his studying. He can begin to earn his living."

"Surely you do not mean what you say. If he were poor, and such a necessity existed, it would be well enough that he should go to work; but you well know that no such necessity exists."

"I am not going to support him in idleness," said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.

"As a student in college he would lead far from an idle life," said the lawyer. "Study is hard work, and college distinction is never won by a lazy student."

"It may be work, though to my mind it is not; but it brings in no money."

"Not at first, perhaps, but it prepares the student for remunerative employment in after life."

"I don't think much of colleges."

Though Mrs. Oakley said this, she would have been very glad to have Ben in college, not that she cared so much to have him a scholar, but it would give him a good social standing.

"I don't know," said Squire Selwyn, rather sharply, for he was getting out of patience with Mrs. Oakley,—"I don't know that it matters much what your opinion of colleges is. It was, as you know, the desire and intention of your late husband that John should enter college. It is your moral duty to carry out that intention."

"I don't care to be told what is my duty," said Mrs. Oakley, her eyes flashing.

"Do you propose to be independent of public opinion?"

"Perhaps you mean your opinion?"

"Not mine alone. Let me tell you, Mrs. Oakley, that in defrauding John Oakley of the privileges which his father meant him to enjoy, you are wronging the dead as well as the living,—not John alone, but the dead husband from whom all your money comes."

"He chose to leave all his money to me," said Mrs. Oakley, "Probably he thought that I would know how to dispose of it without outside advice."

"I am not so sure that he did leave his money to you," said the lawyer, significantly.

Mrs. Oakley flushed. Could he know that the will was found? Involuntarily she put her hand to her pocket, where the will was at that moment lying concealed. But a moment's reflection satisfied her that Hannah, who had not left the house, could not have had a communication with Squire Selwyn. Besides, there was no probability of Hannah's suspecting the nature of the document which she had seen in the candle.

"You have not forgotten that there was a will executed three months before Mr. Oakley died," added Squire Selwyn,—"a will by which John would have come into possession of two-thirds of the estate."

"I have heard a great deal about that will," retorted Mrs. Oakley. "Undoubtedly my husband destroyed it, as unjust to me."

"I don't see how it was unjust to you. It left the property as the law would have left it."

"Very well, where is the will? If you will produce it, I shall of course surrender to John all except the third which comes to me."

"I wish I could produce it."

"But you can't," said Mrs. Oakley, triumphantly, looking the lawyer in the face.

"In my opinion it has never been properly searched for," said the lawyer. "I have the strongest reason to believe that it exists."

"May I inquire what is that reason?" asked Mrs. Oakley.

"Mr. Oakley, in his last sickness, spoke to John about the will."

"What did he say about it?" asked the lady. "This is the first I have heard of it."

"Unfortunately he was so low that he was unable to declare where it was."

Mrs. Oakley looked relieved.

"But John heard the words 'secret drawer.'"

"Then you conclude that the will is still in existence."

"I do."

"And where do you think it is?"

"Somewhere in this house," said Squire Selwyn, emphatically.

"It is strange then that it has not been found," said Mrs. Oakley.

"I do not think so. If hidden in a secret drawer, it would naturally be difficult to find."

Mrs. Oakley rapidly made up her mind what to do. She saw that Squire Selwyn was suspicious of her. By a show of fair dealing she could allay those suspicions, and this would be worth while.

"If this will exists," she said, "it ought to be found."

"So I think," said the lawyer, surprised to hear her speak thus.

"And though its discovery would be to my disadvantage, I certainly shall not object to a search. Are you at leisure now to assist me in such a search?"

"I am," said the lawyer. "I think there is no time like the present."

"Then let us begin in this very room."

"It wouldn't be likely to be here. Still it is best not to slight any possible place of concealment."

Assisted by Mrs. Oakley, Squire Selwyn commenced a strict search, beginning with the parlor, and proceeding from room to room. He little suspected how near him the document was all the time. Of course the search proved fruitless.

"There is one room which has not yet been searched," said Mrs. Oakley,—"the only one except the kitchen, in which Mr. Oakley would be hardly likely to conceal it. I mean my own room."

"There's no occasion to search there."

"I would prefer that the search should be thorough. Here are my keys. I would rather have you go up."

Thus requested, Squire Selwyn complied with the request. He returned from the quest disappointed.

"It is very strange," he thought. "I am firmly convinced that my friend Oakley left a will in existence. But where is it?"

That question he was unable to answer.

"I cannot find the will," he said.

"I am glad you have searched," said Mrs. Oakley. "The fact that I have given you every facility for searching proves that I am perfectly willing that my husband's will should be carried out."

"And his wishes as well?"

"What do you refer to?"

"I refer to John's education."

"I have made up my mind as to that," said Mrs. Oakley, briefly.

"Do you consider your brother's house a suitable home for Mr. Oakley's son?"

"Why not?" she demanded, sharply.

"Do you think, in setting him to work in a shoe-shop, you are doing as his father wished?"

"I do not know where you got your information, Mr. Selwyn," said Mrs. Oakley, angrily, "but I must tell you that you are meddling with business that does not concern you. As you were my husband's lawyer, and drew up the will which you thought in existence, I have asked you to search for it; I have even opened my own chamber to your search. You ought to be satisfied by this time that you are mistaken. In doing this, I have done all that I intend doing. I shall take my own course with John Oakley, who is dependent upon me, and whatever you choose to think or say can have no effect upon me. Good-afternoon, sir."

Mrs. Oakley swept from the room, and Squire Selwyn left the house, feeling that his visit had not benefited John in the slightest degree. That night he wrote John a letter.

CHAPTER XXII.
MR. HUXTER GETS INTO HOT WATER

It was Mr. Huxter's intention to set John to work as soon as possible; but it so happened that the shoe business, in which he was engaged, had been for some time unusually dull, and had not yet revived. To this circumstance our hero was indebted for the comparative freedom which for a few days he was permitted to enjoy. During that time he was waiting anxiously for the expected letter from Squire Selwyn. He wished to know whether his stepmother was resolutely determined upon her present course with regard to himself, before he decided to take the matter into his own hands, and help himself in his own way. Upon one thing he was fully resolved,—not to remain much longer a member of Mr. Huxter's household.

As the letter was to come to the Milbank post-office, on the fourth afternoon he walked over to that village. This time he was not fortunate enough to meet David Wallace, and therefore had a long and tiresome walk.

"Is there a letter here for John Oakley?" he inquired of the postmaster.

"John Oakley," said the old official, looking under his glasses. "Do you live round here?"

"I am passing a short time in the neighborhood," said John.

The postmaster took some time to adjust his spectacles, and a longer time in looking over the letters. John waited anxiously, fearing that he had taken the long walk for nothing. But he was destined to be more fortunate.

"You said your name was John Oakley?" repeated the official, balancing a letter in his hand.

"Yes," said John, quickly.

"Then here's a letter for you. It looks like Squire Selwyn's writing."

"It is from him," said John.

"Then you know him?"

"Yes," said John, mechanically, impatiently tearing open the letter.

"He's a good lawyer, the squire is," said the postmaster. "He was here only last week."

"Yes, I saw him."

This was the letter which John received:—

"My dear young Friend:—I called upon your stepmother yesterday in the afternoon, hoping to induce her to adopt different measures with regard to yourself. I regret to say that I failed utterly in my mission. She will not permit you to go to college, declaring that you have already a sufficient education. Nor will she remove you from the house of Mr. Huxter, though I represented that he was not a proper person to have the charge of you.

"We had some conversation about the missing will. I was a little surprised by her suggesting that I should search the house for it. I was glad of the opportunity, and proceeded to do so. I made the search as thorough as possible, but discovered nothing. I still believe, however, that the will is in existence, unless it has been destroyed since your father's death.

"I hardly know what to advise under the circumstances. If you should leave Mr. Huxter, I advise you to seek your aunt at Wilton, and I shall be glad to hear from you when you have arrived there. If you should need money, do not hesitate to apply to me, remembering that I am your father's friend."

"Your true friend,

James Selwyn."

"P. S. I enclose a few lines from Sam."

There was another sheet inside the envelope, on which John recognized easily Sam's familiar handwriting. He was very glad to hear from Sam, for whom he felt a warm attachment.

Here is Sam's letter:—

"Dear John:—I have been missing you awfully. I couldn't think what had become of you till father told me he had seen you at Milbank. So you are in the spider's clutches, you poor innocent fly? A nice time you must have of it with old Huxter. I declare I've no patience with Mrs. Oakley, when I think of the way she has treated you. I can't do anything to her; but I'll take it out in tricks on Ben. By the way, your amiable stepbrother has got a new friend,—a flashy young man from New York, who sports a lot of bogus jewelry, and smokes from ten to a dozen cigars a day, and spends his time in lounging about the billiard and bar room. He isn't doing Ben any good. They play billiards a good deal, and he tells Ben stories about the city, which I expect will make Ben want to go there. Do you think Mrs. Oakley will let him?

"You've no idea how I miss you, old fellow. All the hard parts in Virgil and Xenophon come to me now. I don't enjoy studying half so much now that you are away. If I were you, I'd give old Huxter the slip some fine morning. I only wish you could come and stay at our house. Wouldn't it be jolly? I know father would like it; but I suppose people would talk, and Mrs. Oakley would make a fuss.

"Well, it's time for me to go to studying. Keep up a stiff upper lip, and never say die. Things will be sure to come round. One thing, you must be sure to write to me as soon as you can. Tell me all about how you're getting along with the monstrum horrendum informe. Of course I mean old Huxter."

"Your affectionate friend,

Sam Selwyn."

John felt much better after reading these letters. He felt that, whatever might be the hardships of his present lot, he had two good friends who sympathized with him. He read over the lawyer's letter once more. Though he didn't expressly advise him to leave Mr. Huxter, it was evident that he expected him to do so. John himself had no doubts on that point. He felt that he would be willing anywhere else to work for his living; but to remain in his present position was insupportable. He could feel neither regard nor respect for Mr. Huxter. He witnessed daily with indignation the manner in which he treated his poor wife, whom he sincerely pitied. But it was not his business to interfere between man and wife. No, he could not stay any longer in such a house. To-morrow morning he would rise early, and, before Mr. Huxter woke, bid a silent farewell to Jackson, and start on his journey to Wilton.

When he reached his boarding-place, it was already four o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Huxter had come home just drunk enough to be ugly. He had inquired of his wife where John was. She couldn't tell him.

"What business has he to leave the house without permission?" he growled.

"He is old enough for that, surely," said Mrs. Huxter.

"Shut up, Mrs. Huxter! What do you know about it?" said her husband. "The boy needs a good flogging."

"I'm sure he's a very good boy," said Mrs. Huxter. "He is quite a young gentleman."

"He is altogether too much of a young gentleman," said Mr. Huxter. "He puts on too many airs for me."

"You are not just to him, Mr. Huxter."

"How many times, Mrs. Huxter, must I request you to mind your own business?" said her husband, coarsely. "Do you know what I am going to do?"

"What?" asked his wife, with apprehension.

"I'm going to cut a stout stick out in the orchard, and give the young gentleman a lesson when he returns. That's what I'm going to do."

"Oh don't, Mr. Huxter!" implored his wife, clasping his arm.

But Mr. Huxter was in one of his ugly fits, and shaking off his wife's grasp, went out into the orchard, taking out his jack-knife. He returned in a few minutes with a thick stick in his hand, which boded no good to poor John.

Mrs. Huxter turned pale with apprehension, and earnestly hoped John would not return until her husband had forgotten his resolution. But this was not to be. She heard a step upon the threshold, and John entered by the back way. Mr. Huxter tightened the grasp upon his stick, and smiled grimly.

"Where've you been, Oakley?" he demanded, abruptly.

"I have been over to Milbank," said John, quietly, not knowing the intention of the questioner.

"What did you go over to Milbank for?" asked Huxter.

"I didn't know there was any objection to my going," said John.

"What business had you to go without asking my leave?"

"I didn't suppose there was any need of my asking you whether I could go or not."

"You're an impudent young rascal!" exclaimed Mr. Huxter.

"What reason have you for calling me that?" asked John, calmly. He saw that Mr. Huxter had been drinking, and did not wish to get into a dispute with him.

"You needn't think you can put on any of your airs here. I won't stand it!" vociferated Huxter, gradually working himself up into a rage.

"I don't want to put on any airs, Mr. Huxter," said John.

"Do you mean to contradict me?" demanded Huxter, glaring at John.

"You had better go out," said Mrs. Huxter, in a low voice.

"He shan't go out! He shall stay," roared Huxter. "I'll thank you not to interfere, Mrs. Huxter. I'm going to flog the young jackanape."

He seized his stick and made a rush at John. Our hero, knowing he could not cope with him, and besides not wishing to get into a fight in the presence of Mrs. Huxter, dodged the angry man. This made Mr. Huxter, whose blood was now up, all the more eager to get hold of him. John, however, succeeded in eluding him once more. This time, however, Mr. Huxter was unlucky. Mrs. Huxter had been washing, and the tub full of quite warm water had been temporarily placed upon the floor of the kitchen. Mr. Huxter, whose motions were not over-steady, slipped, and, falling backward, sat down in the tub.

He gave a yell of pain, and John, taking advantage of the accident, ran out of the door. But Mr. Huxter was in no condition to follow him. The water was not hot enough to scald him; but it certainly made him feel very uncomfortable.

"The young rascal has killed me," he groaned. "I'm scalded to death, and I suppose you're glad of it, Mrs. Huxter. You put the tub there on purpose."

Mr. Huxter took off his clothes and went to bed, swearing at his poor wife, who he declared was in league with John.

"There's no help for it now," said John to himself. "I must leave this house to-morrow."