CHAPTER VI.
GENEROUS SELF-DEVOTION.
THE day on which Lloyd Hudson was to pass his examination was one of considerable interest and anxiety at home. Old Mr. Hudson, equable in temper as he was, found it impossible to fix his mind upon business, or to give it anything beyond the most formal attention. The mother and sisters spent most of the time sitting in each other's rooms, and talking of Lloyd. The girls—Martha and Ella—were sanguine about the result; but Mrs. Hudson had her fears.
The usual dinner hour did not bring the young student.
"I thought it would have been all over before this," said Mr. Hudson, as they gathered around the table. "But the work of examination is, doubtless, slow. There is a large class this year."
"If he should be rejected," remarked the mother.
"We won't think that possible," said Martha. "I am sure Lloyd is well prepared. No one could study harder than he has studied."
"But to think of five or six learned professors examining a young student."
"That is one side of the case," said Mr. Hudson, "and the other is, that they will examine him on the very points they have taught him. They will ask him no questions, the answers to which they have not before given him over and over again in their lectures, and which he has not seen in books. I think we may safely believe that Lloyd is fully prepared for the trial, and will pass through it with credit to himself and honor to the school."
Just then the door was thrown open, and Lloyd walked in with a face whose brightness told the story of his success.
"All right, I see," said the father, while his heart bounded as lightly as a boy's.
"Yes, all right, father," returned Lloyd. "The professors did me the honor to say that I passed the best examination of any who preceded me."
The mother and sisters could not restrain their joy, but starting from the table, expressed the gladness they felt by warmly embracing the son and brother.
"And now, my son," said old Mr. Hudson, as they were all together that evening, "having passed successfully through your long day of preparation for future usefulness in the world, the question as to the next step comes up. What are your thoughts in respect to the future? Have you turned your eyes in that direction?"
"I have thought a good deal of the future," replied the young man, "but without arriving at any definite conclusion. Of course I wish to consult you on the subject. Up to this time I have been entirely dependent upon you for everything. This must now cease, and I must, hereafter, depend upon my own exertions, which, at first, will meet with but poor returns. The first thing to determine will be, where to locate myself."
"Where but in this city?" said the mother, quickly. "You will not go away from Philadelphia."
"A young physician has but a poor chance in a large city like this, mother," replied Lloyd. "I might sit in my office for years without getting practice sufficient to support me. But in some country town at the West or South, I will doubtless find an opening of sufficient importance to enable me to sustain myself."
"All that involves serious considerations," remarked Mr. Hudson. "As Lloyd says, he ought now to sustain himself but if, in the nature of things, is cannot be done without too great a sacrifice, he must be sustained for a time longer. A practice in this city, if it can be made, will be worth securing, even at considerable cost, for in a city like Philadelphia, a physician of eminent abilities may rise into a much more distinguished position, and be much more useful, than he can in a small country town, where everything is circumscribed."
"I am afraid you overrate my ability, father," said the young man, with the modesty he felt. "Eminence in the medical profession in a city like this, is attained only by the few."
"By the few, my son, who, to good natural abilities, add untiring industry and patient thought. You may rise high if you will; but all the hindrances lie with yourself, and may be overcome. If you deem your studies at an end when you get your diploma, then you will not rise above a mere plodding physician, who is retrograding every year, instead of advancing. But, if you remain a student, and, year after year, add to your stock of information, at the same time that you endeavor to make all practical, eminence will come as a natural result."
"That I know, as yet, nothing, I am deeply conscious," replied Lloyd. "No one, therefore, can feel more sensibly than I do the necessity for continuing the study of my profession with unremitting assiduity; and not only of what directly appertains to it, but of all that has an indirect bearing upon it. As to the eminence, I am content to let that come, if ever it does come, as the consequence of well-directed efforts."
"That is the true spirit, my son," replied Mr. Hudson. "Think not of eminence as the end of your exertions, but rather as a consequence that may or may not flow from them but which, if it ever does come, will give you the ability to be more widely useful. If this be your spirit, I incline to the opinion that you had better remain in Philadelphia, where the field is wider, and the opportunities greater."
"But I cannot think of burdening you longer. It would not be right."
"It will be right if done in the right spirit, my son," replied the high-minded watchmaker, who, though in humble circumstances, had a noble nature. "What we do should not be in sole reference to ourselves. Our acts ought to have some reference to the good of others. I believe that it will be right for me to help you for one or two or three years, until you are able to support yourself, for, thereby, you will the more surely rise into a high and useful position. The sacrifice on my part will be small, compared to the good attained."
The unanimous voice of the family was in favor of Lloyd's remaining in Philadelphia, and living at home as before. It would be better for him, in the end, to do so, he believed; but still, the thought of burdening his father weighed upon his mind, and kept him for some time undecided. When alone with him, his sisters urged strongly his giving up all thought of removing from the city. To Martha he said, about a week after he had received his diploma, and while the subject was yet in agitation, in answer to the question, "Why will you think of leaving us, brother?"
"Because I cannot make up my mind to depend upon father any longer. His business, I have heard him say, is not so good as it was; and, besides, he is growing old, and needs freedom from labor, rather than heavier burdens. I feel, sister, that it would not be just."
To this Martha did not reply for some moments. She, too, felt that her father's duties were too severe for him, and rather wished to see them lightened instead of increased.
"It is true what you say about father," she remarked. "He ought not to be more heavily burdened than he is, and he need not be. Ella and I have talked that matter over, and decided that we will take a few scholars and teach them music until you—"
"Never!" ejaculated the young man, firmly. "I will not listen to such an arrangement."
"Why not, Lloyd?"
"You and Ella become music teachers for the purpose of supporting me who ought to support you? No—no! Don't breathe it to me again. I will go South."
"My brother will hear reason," said Martha, calmly.
"There is no reason in that," replied Lloyd, impatiently.
"And why not? All agree that it will be best for you to remain here. The difficulty in the way is the slowness with which a practice is acquired in a large city like this, and the inability of a young physician to support himself for a year or two. Ella and I, in love and duty, agree to do a certain thing, right in itself—as right as to practise medicine—in order to sustain our brother, a young physician, until he can sustain himself. Can he, upon any just plea, refuse to let us be coworkers, in affection, with him in his honorable elevation. Will he do violence to our love and sisterly pride? Will he abandon his home, with all its dear associations, and go off among strangers, because the voice of false pride is louder than the voice of reason and love? No! Our brother will not so lightly esteem our offering. He will not trample it under his feet!"
"Martha! Martha!" exclaimed the young man, "you must not urge me thus. You paralyse, instead of giving strength to my judgment. My sisters teach music to support me! Away with the thought!"
"False pride, false independence, Lloyd. It is nothing else. We have the time and the ability; and whether you accept what we propose or not, whether you go or stay, we shall do as we said. Our father demands our consideration, and he shall have it. Long enough has he been burdened for our support. But, oh! how much sweeter would be our tasks, how much lighter our duties, if you would still consent to make home glad with your presence."
Martha spoke with great tenderness; and she saw that her words made an impression.
"Say that you will remain with us, brother," she continued. "Home will not seem like home to any of us when you are gone. Do not be the first to break the circle, when no real necessity for doing so exists."
The young man was silent, yet much disturbed.
"I will think about it a little longer," he said, in an agitated voice. "At present I will only say, that this unexpected manifestation of affection by you and Ella has touched me deeply. May it meet its just reward."
"The reward is in your hands, brother. Do not withhold it," returned Martha.
"Be silent, sister. You throw my thoughts all into confusion," said Lloyd Hudson, in a tender yet rebuking-voice. "How am I to decide as to the right course for me to take, when you bear down my feelings at this rate? I must think more about it. I think alone. What I conscientiously believe to be right, that I will do, and do it though all the world oppose."
"In determining what is right for you to do, I will merely say," remarked the sister, "that if you admit into your counsels any suggestions from false pride, your conclusions will be in great danger of having in them a tincture of error. If there is any bias of feeling, let it be given by love and not pride."
CHAPTER VII.
ACTING FROM PRINCIPLE.
"FATHER, I cannot! You may call it a weakness; I will even acknowledge that it is. But to let my sisters support me by hard labor is more than I will permit. Let me go South. I will find some place where my services are needed. It will be better than to sit down idly here to wait for a practice that may be years in coming."
"Martha and Ella will do what they say, independent of your movements altogether, and I approve their determination. All of us should be usefully employed. They have the time and the ability, and are wise to give them both a right direction. But, independent of all that, here is a home for you. The burden of your presence, my son, will be far lighter than the burden of your absence. Do not go then. I shall be unhappy if you leave us so causelessly."
The reasoning of his father Lloyd had withstood, but could not resist an earnest appeal like this, made with a lip that trembled and a voice that had lost its uniform steadiness.
"Let it be as you wish," he said, in a low tone. "I trust that all will be right. If you feel the burden too heavily, you will say so. As quickly as I can, I will relieve you."
There were cheerful hearts in the dwelling of the watchmaker when it was known that Lloyd had yielded, and was to remain.
An office was immediately secured, and Doctor Hudson put up his sign. He did not expect any practice at first, and, therefore, was not disturbed because he received none. Anatomy and surgery had attracted most of his attention while a student, and to the perfecting of skill in these he gave the principal portion of his time and attention now. He attended all the hospital operations of consequence, and assisted the surgeons in the performance of their difficult and often dangerous tasks. His devotion to this branch of his profession, amounting almost to enthusiasm, did not escape the notice of those with whom he was thereby brought into contact. He was often alluded to by surgeons of high standing, when he deemed himself scarcely noticed by them.
One day the professor of anatomy in the school from which he had received his diploma called upon him. It was nearly a year after he had opened his office, and at a time when he was beginning to feel discouraged about a practice. The professor soon made known his business.
"Doctor," he said, "our demonstrator of anatomy is not half so capable as you are, nor is he a great favorite I would prefer you a hundred times, and so, I believe, would every student in the school. Now it so happens that he has been called away for a couple of weeks, and some one must be had in his place during his absence. I wish you to fill it. This will give you a chance to exhibit your superior skill, and so far make in your favor, that it will be an easy matter to have him displaced and you appointed in his stead some few months hence."
"Excuse me, doctor," replied Hudson, "but I cannot meet your wishes under that view of the case. Doctor S— is a good anatomist and demonstrates quite well. I would not, for the world, have him displaced to make room for me. If I rise, it must not be at the expense of another's downfall."
The professor looked astonished, for a moment or two, at this unexpected reply. He then said:—
"I believe you are right, doctor. Forgive me for having made a proposition so repugnant to the honorable principles you hold. I see that I erred. My anxiety to have the very best talent in every department of our school, has led me to think of means not altogether as fair as they should be. Still, there must be some one to demonstrate to the class while Doctor S— is away, and I know of none so capable of doing it as yourself. I must, therefore, beg of you to reconsider your prompt decision of the matter, and consent to serve the class for a couple of weeks."
"Indeed, Doctor," returned Hudson, "I cannot change the resolution I have declared. It would not be right for me to do so. I could not feel in any degree of freedom. Why did not Doctor S— name some one to take his place?"
"So he did."
"Ah! Who?"
"Doctor D—. Just think of it! Why, I doubt if he remembers enough of his anatomy to tell the difference between a sinus and a foramen."
"You underrate him, doctor," said Hudson. "D— will give a very fair demonstration."
"And you one a thousand times better."
"I doubt that. But, waiving this question, doctor, it is impossible for me, under the circumstances, to meet your wishes. The fact that Doctor S— has named Dr. D—, settles the matter definitively. If, in any other way, I can serve the school, it will give me pleasure to do it."
"While I cannot but regret your decision, think as I will about it," returned the professor, "I must do you the justice to say, that I am constrained to honor your principles. Few men would have resisted the temptation. It would be better for the world, perhaps, if there were more like you."
When Hudson mentioned at home what had occurred, there was not one who did not express a warm approval of his conduct.
"It is only what I expected of you, Lloyd," said the father. "Be ever true to right principles, and you will be true to yourself. You need not be concerned for the issue."
Two weeks from the day Doctor Hudson received a visit from the professor of anatomy, that individual called upon him again.
"You are probably aware," he said, "that the father of Doctor S—, a physician of large practice in Boston, is dead. It was his illness that made the absence of S— necessary."
"Yes, I have heard it," returned Hudson.
"You may not have heard, however, that S— is to remain in Boston, and take up his father's practice?"
"That intelligence has not before reached me."
"It is true, nevertheless. I received a letter from S— to that effect yesterday. This morning, at a meeting of the Faculty, I made known his decision, and brought forward your talents and anatomical skill as fitting you in a peculiar manner to take his place. You were appointed without a question, and by a unanimous vote. Let me congratulate you on the occasion, as I have already congratulated the school. An honor has been worthily conferred. You can now accept the chair, and feel yourself fairly entitled to it."
"For your kindness I feel truly gratified," replied Hudson, showing more emotion than he wished to exhibit. "I accept the appointment, and will endeavor to discharge the duties appertaining to it to the best of my ability."
"Which will leave us no cause of complaint!"
"When am I expected to take charge of the demonstrations before your school?"
"Immediately. Doctor D— has already been informed of your appointment, and will give place to you after to-day."
"Very well. I will be at my post in due season."
Nothing could have happened more accordant to the young man's wishes than this. Besides giving his abilities full scope, it secured him an ample income, considering his habits of strict economy, as there were nearly a hundred and fifty students in the class, and the demonstrator's ticket was ten dollars.
The first thing he did, after communicating his good fortune at home, was to insist that Martha and Ella should give up their scholars. To this, however, they promptly objected, as they had a large number of pupils, and were receiving from four to five hundred dollars each per annum. The marriage of Martha to a worthy young man, a few months afterwards, settled the matter, however, as far as she was concerned; but Ella continued her useful and profitable employment.
CHAPTER VIII.
AN INIQUITOUS SCHEME.
"Too slow—too slow. I must go up faster. Harker gets the lion's share of reputation and profit. It is time there was some new arrangement."
Dunbar was alone, and walking uneasily about. Five years had passed since his co-partnership with Mr. Harker, and still his interest in the business was only a fifth, although by his efforts he had increased the practice of the office. True, he had accumulated about ten thousand dollars, which he was using in a way that netted him from fifteen to twenty per cent annually.
In the meantime, the sisters had married honest and industrious mechanics, and for thus degrading him had been virtually disowned. He never even paid them the compliment of a visit, and if he met them by chance, treated them with chilling formality. Old Mr. Dunbar still kept his grocery, but the expense of sustaining his son for so many years had sapped the foundation of his business, and he now found himself involved in debts which he saw no hope of paying. Still he struggled on, without assistance or sympathy from his unnatural child, who, by the diversion of a thousand or two dollars from his own selfish projects, might have relieved his parent from a burden under which he felt himself sinking.
For some time he had been dissatisfied with the share of profit he obtained in the business of the office. Harker, who felt a pride in his old student, had taken pains, from the first, to push Dunbar forward in all important cases; and by this means gave him a prominence which, alone, he would not have gained for twenty years. This great advantage, with a fifth of the profits of the business, he had considered ample remuneration. His own expenses were very large; for both himself and family were expensive in their habits. While Dunbar, upon one-fifth of the practice, was saving at least two thousand dollars a year, he usually spent all he made, and was, in fact, notwithstanding an income of over ten thousand dollars per annum, a poor man.
"I think I can stand alone," Dunbar continued, uttering his thoughts aloud as he walked the floor of his office. "There are at least half a dozen of our clients of whom I am sure, and out of them, if I manage it right, I can get at least as much as the whole of my present income."
While thus meditating, a stranger entered, and asked if either Mr. Harker or Mr. Dunbar was in.
"My name is Dunbar," said the young attorney, bowing.
"Ah! Then you are the one I wish to see. I have a claim against a distant relative, involving a large amount of property, out of which I have for a long time been unjustly held, and for the recovery of which I have determined to appeal to the law. The terms I have to propose to counsel are a fee of ten thousand dollars if successful, and nothing if unsuccessful."
Dunbar made careful inquiries as to the nature of the claim, and took two or three days for examination into its foundation and the law bearing upon it. He was satisfied from this investigation that the claim was, to some extent, founded in justice; and there were strong points in the case, which gave hope of a successful issue.
In the course of his conference with the individual who wished to prosecute this claim, Dunbar found that he put much more confidence in his ability than he did in that of Mr. Harker, and once or twice inquired whether Mr. Harker would object to any legal advantage that it might be found necessary to take. A few days' reflection decided the mind of Dunbar, and he said to his client, whose name was Malcolm,—
"I have been for some time meditating a separation from Harker, and have, at length, determined upon taking that step. If you will defer the opening of this suit for a couple of months, I will be ready to undertake it myself, and prosecute it with undivided energy."
"Nothing could be more agreeable," returned Malcolm. "I will defer the matter as you suggest." And so it was deferred until Dunbar could arrange and settle all that appertained to his contemplated dissolution with his old preceptor, who received his proposition with astonishment. Nothing that Harker could say had any effect upon Dunbar. His mind was fully made up for a separation, and it took place accordingly.
From all that appears, this was an unwise act for Dunbar; but he had thoughts and intentions in regard to the new case expressed to none. What these were will appear in the end.
As soon as the young attorney launched from the shore in his own boat, he took up the important case that had been offered him, and made a vigorous demonstration upon the party in possession of the property to be litigated. Of course there was a defence, which was intrusted, as he had shrewdly anticipated from his knowledge of the party concerned, to an attorney of tact and shrewdness, with principles just about as pure as his own. The two legal gentlemen entered into close conference from the first, though, to all appearances, they were almost as hostile as their respective clients.
Before commencing a suit, Malcolm, who had a small business, by means of which he was barely able to support his family, had made sundry efforts to compromise his claim. He had even offered to take a sum as small as twenty-five thousand dollars, although the amount in dispute was over a hundred thousand. But all such overtures were rejected. No sooner, however, was the suit commenced, and the terms upon which Dunbar had undertaken its prosecution known, than an offer was made to Malcolm to settle the matter by paying him the sum he had previously demanded. This fact he immediately communicated to his lawyer, and asked if he had not better accept the proposition.
"Accept it?" returned Dunbar, with well-assumed surprise. "No! Nor double the amount. Your case is as clear as noon-day. I have already stated it to two of our judges, and they agree with me that you have everything on your side. The very fact that an offer to compromise has been made, shows that the defendant's counsel has been acute enough to see the weak points of his case, and to advise the course that has been taken. He's as timid as a hare, at any rate; and a mere old woman at the bar. I am astonished at his being employed in a case involving so much."
Thus assured, Malcolm declined the offer.
That evening the plaintiff's and defendant's lawyers met at the office of the former.
"Have you seen Malcolm?" was the first question asked.
"Yes," replied Dunbar. "He was here this morning."
"And wanted to settle the matter, I suppose."
"Oh, yes. He was warm for it at first, but I soon satisfied him that it would be folly to do so. I suppose you might induce your client to offer thirty or forty thousand dollars in order to get a clear title to his remaining property."
"Yes, I think that might be done. It will be easy for me to show him that the chances are two to one against him, if he permits the suit to go on."
"The easiest thing in the world. When do you see your client?"
"T shall see him early to-morrow."
"You think, then, that we might get something like thirty thousand dollars out of him?"
"Yes. But it will not do to let the matter be settled before some heavy costs are made to accrue, which Malcolm will have to pay off before he can begin de novo, after I throw you out on a demurrer, and which, of course, he will not be able to settle."
"That is all understood, of course. What I don't like in this matter, is being thrown out of the case on a demurrer, a circumstance that is never creditable to a lawyer. I may gain fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, but will not my reputation as an acute lawyer suffer too severely? I sometimes think it will."
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A chance like this does not occur every day."
"I am well aware of that."
"Money is power, you know. Money is reputation—money is everything. With plenty of money you may set the world at defiance."
"But I don't call fifteen or twenty thousand dollars plenty of money."
"Though a very important sum in the process of accumulation."
"Yes, there is no doubt of that. I think," Dunbar added, after reflecting for some moments, "that some less apparent defect might be substituted for the one I have admitted, and which would not reflect so strongly upon my want of legal acumen."
"And by doing so, jeopardize the result."
"I am safe for ten thousand, you know; and I am not sure that I ought not to be satisfied with that and the reputation success in this case will give me."
"If you were absolutely certain of success, then what you say has some force. But, of that, you are by no means sure. We have all the money on our side, and can oppose you with any required force of counsel; and even in the case of a decision adverse to our interests, inset all the costs, and go up with an appeal. You could not settle this matter in two or three years, if we give you battle in good earnest, as we certainly shall, and then the result is doubtful. None know better than you and I how little calculation is to be made on the decision of Courts."
Dunbar did not reply to this; but sat with his eyes fixed upon the floor. His companion, after a few moments, resumed—
"My fee in this case is to be five thousand dollars, if successful, and one thousand if I fail. If I throw you out on the demurrer, and thus completely kill Malcolm, I will get my five thousand, of course. I can therefore afford, if we get thirty thousand dollars out of old Harrison, to let your share be twenty thousand, and take ten myself. How will that do?"
"It looks rather better, I must confess," said Dunbar; "and it shall stand so, if you can arrange all upon the terms proposed."
"I will accomplish it without doubt, unless I have mistaken my man."
This settled, the friends in iniquity parted.
Lawrence Dunbar was far from feeling easy in mind about this affair. Not that he was troubled by anything his conscience ventured to suggest, for that spoke in such low whispers that the words rarely arose to an audible murmur. But he was fearful lest he was playing too high. Two individuals, at least, would know him to be a scoundrel, and the knowledge of that fact, with indubitable proofs thereof, he did not think safe in anybody's hands. But the temptation had proved too strong for him, and he was committed to an extent that made it doubtful whether to retreat was not more perilous than to advance.
Thus it is that evil blinds her votaries. It is easy to walk in the plain path of rectitude; but few can tread the devious ways of the wrong-doer without bewilderment at some point, and doubt whether to go forward or seek to retrace the steps that have been taken.
CHAPTER IX.
A MATRIMONIAL SPECULATION.
FIVE years had not passed over the head of Lawrence Dunbar without advances being made by him in certain quarters for the purpose of securing an advantageous matrimonial alliance. That was something of which he never for a moment lost sight. Three times had he met with signal failures; but a renewed effort, and in a new quarter, promised a somewhat better result.
A young lady named Henrietta Gay, said to be worth sixty or seventy thousand dollars in her own right, made her appearance in fashionable circles a few months before the time Dunbar thought it wise to dissolve the business relation that had for some years existed between him and Mr. Harker. Miss Gay was from Baltimore, and had come to live with a relative, a widow lady, residing in Philadelphia. About her personal appearance there was nothing attractive; neither were her manners agreeable, nor her conversation intelligent and interesting. Two or three fortune hunters approached, as soon as her money-value became known, but there was something about her that instinctively repulsed them.
As Miss Gay was a near relative of a certain very distinguished citizen of Maryland, and had connexions of standing and wealth in Philadelphia, her introduction into fashionable circles was direct. Dunbar was rot long in finding her out; nor did he allow space for much hesitation before becoming her devoted admirer. The young attorney was handsome and agreeable; and every one spoke of him as possessing talents of a high order that would inevitably carry him up to a distinguished position. His attentions were of the most flattering kind, and Miss Gay was flattered by them. The conquest was easier than Dunbar had expected. The lady's heart was won at the first assault. After having gained the prize, the lawyer began to think more seriously about the value, and to feel a desire to know something more certain on that head. Common report set down the fortune of Miss Gay at seventy thousand dollars. It might be more or it might be less; but to no prudent investigation ventured upon came any satisfactory answer. It would not do to press the matter too closely, lest, by some means, his affection for the lady's money instead of herself, should get wind and be breathed into her ears. The understanding in regard to her wealth was so general and decided, that Dunbar felt pretty well satisfied that he had gained a prize in the matrimonial lottery.
A more intimate association with Miss Gay, after the engagement had taken place, made Dunbar acquainted with points in her character that were by no means agreeable. She possessed a strong self-will; had very contracted views of everything, and was passionate in the extreme. Whatever her money might do for him, it was soon clear to his mind, that, personally, she would reflect no light upon him in society. Take her all in all, she was the most uninteresting and unattractive woman he had ever known. To this conclusion he was reluctantly forced, in less than three months after his betrothment.
But from her to her sixty or seventy thousand dollars his thoughts would turn, and then he always breathed more freely. He was anxious for the time to come when that pretty little fortune would be fully within his possession.
"Add that to what I already have," he would sometimes say, "and I think I may not fear to shake my fist in the world's face, and bid it defiance."
The young attorney would have named an early day for the marriage, but the lady was in no hurry. The ensuing spring she thought quite time enough. It was then midsummer. Delicacy forbade his urging the matter, and so he submitted to lie out of her handsome fortune for six or eight months, with as good a grace as possible.
The lawyer of old Mr. Harrison called upon that gentleman on the morning following his interview with Dunbar.
"He has declined the proposition," said Harrison, as soon as the attorney appeared.
"Has he, indeed?"
"Yes. Here is his note, declaring it his intention, under advice of counsel, to prosecute the matter to a decision."
"He has good counsel, and will, doubtless, run us hard, though I by no means consider the case desperate. If a compromise could be effected, however, I cannot but think it would be the wisest for us to accept it."
"But how is it to be brought about?"
"Every man has his price."
"So I hold."
"And this Dunbar among the rest."
"No doubt of it."
"He is to get ten thousand dollars if he succeeds in establishing his client's right in the property you hold."
"So I understand."
"It is the fee, and nothing else, that binds him to Malcolm."
"Then you think Dunbar has a money-price."
"I am sure of it. Could anything but the money of Miss Gay tempt him into a marriage contract with her, which I am told has actually been formed."
"You must be in error," said Mr. Harrison, with a look of surprise.
"No, I believe not."
"With Miss Gay?"
"Yes."
The old gentleman indulged himself for a moment or two in an inward laugh or chuckle, and then said—
"Well, how are we to manage this sharp young attorney, who has arrayed his artillery in such a formidable style?"
"By paying him better for losing Malcolm's suit than Malcolm pays him for gaining it."
"Aha! is that your game? And you think this can be done?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"You think he can sacrifice his client if so disposed."
"Oh, yes. By the introduction of some defect in his bill, he can put it in my power to throw him out of court on a demurrer."
"But that will not settle the matter. Malcolm can order him or some other lawyer to begin de novo with an amended bill."
"True; but before that can be done the costs must all be paid. They may be made so heavy that Malcolm will find himself in no condition to settle them. Then, by executing what little he has, under an order of the court for the recovery of costs, we may break him up riot and branch, and so get rid of him in that way."
"You're a sharp set of boys," said old Mr. Harrison. "And I rather think a man's a fool to allow you to get him into your hands. If I'd paid this Malcolm the twenty-five thousand dollars he originally asked, I would have been wise. Now I shall think myself well off if I escape with a loss of double that sum."
"It won't be so bad as that, I guess. I am very sure that an offer of twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars will completely silence all scruples of conscience that Dunbar may happen to have, and fully satisfy his cupidity."
"Twenty-five or thirty thousand, indeed! I agree with you that he has his price, and a pretty high one it is, by the way. He must be more reasonable than that."
"Shall I feel his pulse?"
"Oh, yes. It will do no harm to know how it beats."
"A precious set of rascals!" exclaimed Harrison, after the lawyer had left him. "This Dunbar is the man I once heard Harker prophesy would rise in the world. And he is rising sure enough. At this rate of elevation, he will soon be out of sight of all honest men. But he's keen if he gets ahead of me in this affair. If I am not mistaken, I can play off a card upon him that he little dreams is in my hand. And as for my own keen attorney will take good care never again to venture on the ocean of law with him as my pilot. The man who would propose a bribe would take one."
"I have felt his pulse," said the lawyer of Harrison, sententiously, as that gentleman entered his office, and leisurely seated himself, a few days afterwards.
"Well. How does it beat?"
"Healthily as we could wish. He is not adverse; but, as I supposed he would do, fixes his price high."
"How much?"
"He must have thirty thousand dollars."
"The deuce he must! You did not go wide of the mark when you named the price that would buy him."
"No. It seems that I was correct. I thought I knew him pretty well."
"Then for thirty thousand dollars guaranteed to him in case we make good our defence through a flaw in his bill, he will so frame his bill as to leave room for a demurrer."
"Yes. That is what he assents to."
"Very well; we understand him clearly. Now what is your opinion? Shall we pay him this large sum to give us the case, or shall we push on, and try to get it in spite of him?"
"I am clearly of opinion," replied the lawyer, "that we ought to plough with Malcolm's heifer, seeing that he is ready to bend his neck to the yoke. It will cost something, but it makes so much sure."
"Very well. You can arrange the matter with Dunbar. At the proper time I will be ready to fulfil my part of the contract."
"He is not willing to act as proposed, unless he has the most ample security that the amount specified will be forthcoming," said the lawyer, slightly hesitating as he spoke.
"Ah! I suppose not," replied Harrison. "Let him name the security he wants, and I will see if I cannot satisfy him."
"Very well. That is all he asks."
"Tell him," said Harrison, "to be sure that the flaw in the bill is palpable. It would be folly for him to undertake the matter and not do it well."
"I will myself see to that," replied the lawyer.
"How soon will the case come up?" asked Harrison.
"The longer we can keep it off the better."
"How so?"
"By that means we shall accumulate heavy costs, which will have to be settled before a new bill can be filed."
"Ah! Yes; I see."
"I hardly think we shall get an argument on the demurrer before six or nine months."
"So long? I wish it could be earlier."
"There is too much at stake to hurry the matter."
"True. I must leave all to your better judgment."
The lawyer and his client parted, each thinking that he understood the other fully; but both were a little mistaken in this.
CHAPTER X.
PERFECTLY LEGAL.
FILLED, by the positive assurances of his lawyer, with the hope of success, Malcolm, in a few months, became so much occupied with his suit that he neglected his business, which, at best, gave his family but a poor support. A large fortune was almost within his reach, and he could think of nothing but the near prospect of grasping it. What were the coppers, the fips, and the levies that came in so slowly over his counter, compared with property worth, at the lowest estimate, a hundred thousand dollars? No wonder that he felt contempt for his petty business, and neglected it.
Some time before the lawyers were ready to have the case called up for trial, Malcolm was beginning to feel sorely the effects of his want of attention to business. Several small notes had to lie over, thereby hurting his credit, and preventing him from keeping up a selling stock of goods.
Conscious that he was committing an error in suffering his mind to be so diverted from his business, Malcolm strove hard with himself to correct the error, but without effect. His eyes could not rest upon his own dry stubble field, for looking at the golden grain waving in fields beyond.
At length creditors began to be urgent for their money; business grew worse and worse, and there was a prospect of a crisis in his affairs before any decision would be had upon his suit.
"Mr. Dunbar, I wish this matter hurried to, an issue," he said to his lawyer about six months after the suit had been commenced. "If it is not, I shall be forced to accept Harrison's offer of twenty-five thousand dollars. I have more than half regretted fifty times since that I hadn't closed with it."
"Are your circumstances so pressing?" inquired Dunbar.
"Indeed they are. There are three or four suits against me. I have the writs in my pocket. It is no use to defend them, for I have no defence to make. The claims are just. If I do not get relief soon, what little I have will go into the hands of the sheriff."
"That is bad," returned Dunbar, in a voice of sympathy. "But don't give up so easily I can save your effects for you."
"How?"
"What are your goods and furniture worth?"
"A couple of thousand dollars, I suppose. My stock has got very low. The fact is, I have thought so much about this suit against Harrison, as to neglect my business. For these embarrassments I have only myself to blame. I was a fool, but couldn't help it."
"You think they would bring two thousand dollars under the hammer, if fairly sold?"
"I hardly think they would bring that under the hammer."
"A thousand or twelve hundred, then?"
"O yes; readily."
"Very well. I will lend you three hundred dollars on your note on demand. This will make me your creditor. You can then confess judgment on the note, and I will issue an execution and sell you out by the sheriff before any one else can get a judgment against you."
"Sell me out by the sheriff!" exclaimed Malcolm, with a look of surprise. "What difference will that make, pray? It is this breaking up, root and branch, process that I wish to avoid."
"That is just what I want to do for you. I wish to save you. You don't understand, I see, the nature of an amicable sale by the sheriff."
"No, I certainly do not. Never having had anything to do with that gentleman, I am not familiar with all his proceedings."
"I will explain. By the laws of this State no assignments of property for the benefit of particular creditors are legal. But by the same laws, the creditor who can first get out his execution sweeps off everything, provided his claim be as large as the proceeds of the property sold. This enables a debtor to give precedence to whomsoever he pleases by a confession of judgment. Of course there must be a sale of the property, but then it can be conducted in such a way as to attract very little attention. Leave the thing in my hands, and I will see that even your next door neighbor shall not know it. Of course, I do not mean to touch your property. My object is to secure you in its possession."
"But there must be public advertisements and handbills?" said Malcolm.
"I know. But the advertisement can be inserted in some country paper where no citizen will ever see it."
"But the handbills? To make it legal they must be posted."
"Granted. But the law doesn't specify the number. Two will answer."
"It certainly requires them to be put up in public places."
"Very well. The sheriff's office is a public place."
"It can be seen there."
"Not if the face be to the wall; or if some one pull it down in half a minute after it is put up. The law requires the bills to be put up, but doesn't say how long they shall remain up."
"A bell will have to be rung, and a bill put up on the premises."
"Yes. But the bell can be rung in the alley at the rear of your house. Or a few strokes of it made on the opposite side of the street, and no one be the wiser for it. As to the bill, the poster, who understands all this, will put it up a little after daylight, when there is no one in the street. Before he is out of sight it can be torn down by a person employed for the purpose. For fifteen or twenty dollars all this can be managed to a charm."
"I never heard of this before," said Malcolm, opening his eyes with astonishment.
"It is done every day," replied the lawyer. "The men about the sheriff's office understand it all perfectly."
"Still, if anybody buys the goods, they must be delivered."
"That doesn't follow. You can get a friend to bid in everything in my name. He must bid very low, so that the entire amount of sales shall not exceed three hundred dollars. After that, I will settle all with the sheriff, and you can go on as before. The sale can take place in the room back of your store, and even your wife up stairs need not know it. All you have to do will be to furnish the deputy-sheriff with a correct list of what is to be sold. You can call a whole row of shelves a lot, to be struck off at a single bid, and he will go through all the forms of a sale in a low voice, and the clerk and customers in your store will be none the wiser."
"And that's the way it's done!" said Malcolm. "I have often wondered how people who were broken up root and branch managed to retain their furniture, for instance."
"It is by the aid of friends, through an amicable sale."
"I did not expect this act of kindness from you, Mr. Dunbar," said Malcolm, now recollecting the deep obligation under which the lawyer was placing him. "When it is in my power, I hope to make you feel that I am grateful. What is done must be done, I suppose, immediately."
"Yes. For if it be not all over before judgments are obtained and executions issued by those who are suing, some trouble may be given, although the sale could not be prevented."
"I am ready to have the matter as speedily arranged as possible."
"Very well. If you will draw me a note on demand for three hundred dollars, I will hand you my check for that amount. To-morrow, if you will call round, the confession of judgment can be made. Things will go on smoothly enough after that. Leave it all in my hands. I can manage these underlings of the law to a nicety. In due time I will notify you how to act."
The thing proposed by the lawyer was done. Malcolm was quietly sold out by the sheriff, and Dunbar got legal possession of all the goods in his store and furniture in his house.
"I think I shall be able to manage him now," he said to himself, with a cold and heartless sneer, "should he prove troublesome. Harrison will hear no more from him after this suit is lost. What fools some men are!"
CHAPTER XI.
A BIT OF RETALIATION.
AFTER the sheriff's sale had taken place, Malcolm tried to fix his mind more intently on his business, but he found this almost impossible. The argument in his suit against Harrison was to come on at the next term, only two months off, and his anxiety about the result kept his thoughts in such a continued state of excitement, that he injured rather than benefited his business by whatever was done to advance it.
One day he called upon Dunbar, to ask how the matter was progressing. He found the lawyer looking very serious.
"How do things look now?" he asked.
"Bad, I am sorry to say."
Malcolm turned pale.
"What is the matter?" he asked, anxiously, "The defence has filed a demurrer to our bill."
"A what?"
"Has taken exception to a trifling informality, upon which we may be thrown out of court. It is the merest trifle in the world; but it is a lawyer's business to make a mountain out of a molehill, and Harrison's counsel is good at that work."
"And what then?"
"It is impossible to say what then."
"Can we not begin again with an amended bill?"
"Not unless all the costs that have accrued be paid; and they will be heavy."
"How much?"
"It is impossible now to tell. I shall immediately prepare an answer to this demurrer, and have it argued at the earliest possible day. I have strong hopes of satisfying the court that it is a very unimportant informality, in no way affecting the main question, and thus secure a hearing on the bill itself."
"And if successful in this, what is your opinion now as to the result on the main question."
"Not quite so favorable as it was," replied Dunbar, with some gravity. "The defendant has some strong points to urge, and will bring forward proofs to substantiate his title that we had no idea were in existence."
"Indeed!" Malcolm's face had a look of blank astonishment.
"I am sorry to find that it is so. They are working hard to defeat us, and will leave no stone unturned. Harrison, you know, has all the money on his side, and money is powerful."
Poor Malcolm went home feeling most wretched. Up to this point, all his expectations had been of the most sanguine character. Now his hopes were dashed to the earth, and he saw not only the golden harvest he had expected to reap left, in all probability, for the sickle of another, but his own unfruitful field in danger of passing out of his possession.
"Fool that I was!" he muttered to himself, as he walked home from the lawyer's office. "I should have taken Harrison's offer in spite of Dunbar."
"Why not take it as it is?" said his wife to him, after he had mentioned to her the new aspect assumed by the case, and expressed again his regret at not having compromised when it was in his power.
"Sure enough! I will see Harrison this very hour. He offered twenty-five thousand dollars. Ten will have to go to Dunbar, I suppose; but that will leave us fifteen thousand dollars, and upon this we can make a fair start, and get on very well. Yes I will see him at once."
"Do. It is your best course. I have no faith in these lawyers. When a man once goes into their hands, they snap their fingers at his judgment."
"True enough. Yes, I will see Harrison and take his offer."
Old Mr. Harrison was sitting in his counting room, looking over a newspaper, and feeling in a pleasant state of mind, when his relative, who had commenced a suit in the hope of dispossessing him of his property, entered. The brow of Harrison contracted the moment he saw him. Malcolm felt embarrassed, but entered at once upon the business of his visit.
"I have concluded," he said, "to accept your offer to compromise this suit."
"The deuce you have!" returned Harrison with a sneer.
"You made the offer some months ago, and I declined under advice of counsel, although my own wish was to accept it. Now, I have determined to act upon the dictate of my own judgment, and without consulting him."
"You are too late, my friend," replied Harrison. "Your case isn't worth that!" snapping his fingers. "As far as right is concerned, you have no more claim upon my property than I have upon that of John Jacob Astor. To save trouble and vexation, I was willing to buy you off at your own price; but you refused to take your own stipulation, and now I mean to stand the issue. I suppose you are aware of the beautiful position in which your lawyer has placed your suit before the court?"
"I am aware that your lawyer has taken exception to the terms of the bill; but I am not at all sure that the court will attach any weight to these exceptions. But, even if our bill is thrown out, it is an easy matter to amend it, and begin again."
"Not so easy as you may imagine. I happen to know all about that. I rather think, after we settle you on the demurrer, that we shall hear no more about your claim."
"Then you will not compromise?"
"No, not for half the sum you name."
"Good morning," said Malcolm, turning quickly away.
"Good morning," and Harrison lifted his newspaper, and resumed its perusal.
In due time the argument on the demurrer took place, and the court decided against the bill as informal. Malcolm was present during the contest, and could not help being struck with the weakness of his own counsel's position and arguments, and the tact, force, and ingenuity of the defence. He saw, before the matter was submitted to the court, that he would have but little chance; and he was not deceived.
After the decision had been made, he called to see Dunbar, in no very happy frame of mind.
"You must begin again," he said, peremptorily. "They never would have stopped at a demurrer, if they hadn't been afraid to try the case on its own merits."
"Are you prepared to settle the costs?" asked the lawyer, coolly. "Because there is no beginning de novo until that is done."
"How much are they?"
"Somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen hundred dollars."
"Impossible!"
"It is too true. The defence has done everything in its power to accumulate costs, and they are heavy. Under the most rigid taxation, they could not be reduced a hundred dollars."
"Fifteen hundred dollars!" Malcolm's face was pale, and his lips trembled. "Then all is, indeed, hopeless! Mr. Dunbar!" he resumed, with some energy, after a brief pause, "in simple justice you ought to pay these costs, and resume the prosecution on an amended bill."
"Ah! And why so?" There was something insulting in the attorney's manner, which aroused the feelings of his client.
"You are to blame for losing the suit, and, in common justice, should make good what your ignorance or neglect has lost."
"Ignorance or neglect!" exclaimed Dunbar, his face instantly suffused. "Do you know whom you are addressing?"
"I think I ought to know by this time," returned Malcolm, who was fast losing control of himself. "I am talking to a lawyer who has lost me an important suit, through a flaw in his bill, of which the merest legal tyro would be ashamed."
"You will repent this," said Dunbar, setting his teeth closely together. "I never pass by an insult from friend or foe."
"I can never repent knowing you more bitterly than I now do."
"You are mistaken," coolly replied Dunbar, who had regained his self-possession. "You will repent it far more bitterly."
There was something so full of meaning in the way this was uttered, that Malcolm was startled by it. At that moment he remembered that all he had in the world could be swept from his possession in a moment by the lawyer, whose property, by virtue of a sheriff's sale, it really was. Conscious, at the same time, of the folly of provoking a man who had him so fully in his power, he withheld the insulting retort that was on his lips, and turning away abruptly, left the office.
Malcolm was sitting in his store on the next day, brooding over his unhappy condition when a sheriff's officer came in, and informed him that Dunbar had ordered a sale of everything in a week, and that the store must be immediately closed, and the key delivered into the officer's hands. Remonstrance was of no avail. The order was imperative, and the officer executed a portion of it by closing the windows and doors with his own hands. As the family could not leave the premises forthwith, a watchman was stationed in the store and dwelling to see that nothing was removed.
For a few hours, Malcolm was completely paralysed. He saw himself hopelessly ruined, and his family reduced in a single moment to want. After the first shock had subsided, his mind again became active, and indignation at the conduct of the lawyer set him to thinking whether it were not in his power to circumvent him. Not being able to hit upon any plan, for Dunbar was holding him as with the grip of a bear, he determined to consult a lawyer, muttering to himself as he came to this conclusion—
"Fight dog with dog! It's the only way." So with a fee of five dollars in hand he went to a lawyer and stated his case.
"He's got you in his power, certainly," the lawyer said; "but as the sale will not take place for a week, you might have some things removed. There would be no injustice in this, for his claim was only three hundred dollars, and your goods, you say, are worth at least fifteen hundred, all of which are legally his."
"But he has a sheriff's watchman on the premises."
"Indeed! That is bad. Still, the thing can be managed, though it must be done adroitly. What kind of a man is the watchman?"
"A good-natured Irishman, who can never get done expressing his sympathy for me."
"He's short and stout, and fifty years old, at least?"
"Yes."
"I know him very well. There will be no great difficulty in managing him. He goes home to his dinner, I suppose, about twelve o'clock."
"Yes, every day, and is gone an hour."
"Very well. At eleven o'clock to-morrow do you ask him to go out with you and get something to drink. He will go. Manage to keep him at the tavern until after twelve o'clock, and then he will go home for his dinner instead of going back to your house. That, you see, will give you two hours. Previous to this, you must arrange with a friend to come with a furniture wagon or two, while you are treating the watchman, and remove some of your most valuable things to where Dunbar will never find them. This can be done every day, until little remains behind of any value. Of course you will take care to diminish the show of goods as little as possible, so as to give the watchman an excuse for not seeing what is going on."
"You don't mean to say that he will understand the game we are playing?" said Malcolm.
"Certainly I do. A sheriff's watchman is no fool, whatever he may seem to be. Of course you will put a five or a ten dollar bill into his hand before you retire with your family, and leave him in full possession, saying to him that it is but a just remuneration for the consideration he has had in making his presence so little offensive to yourself and family, when it might have been far otherwise."
"And you really think all this can be done?" said Malcolm, scarcely crediting the lawyer's affirmation.
"Certainly it can, if you choose to carry it through."
"Choose!" ejaculated Malcolm. "I think I will choose. The cursed villain! I would go through fire and water to circumvent him. He knew he was about losing my case, and his fee into the bargain, and he thought he would get something out of me for his trouble."
"You do just as I recommend, and you can save nearly all your goods and furniture."
"I will follow your advice to the letter," replied Malcolm, as he shook the lawyer's hand, and hurriedly left his office.
"Another trick of the profession," he said, to himself as he walked homeward. "Nothing like misfortune to make a man acquainted with the subtleties of law, and the rascalities practised in its execution."
When Dunbar came to sell the goods and furniture of Malcolm, he realized, after paying all fees and expenses, one hundred and sixty-five dollars! When he demanded this sum from the sheriff, that officer showed him a rule of the court in favor of Malcolm's landlord for one hundred and fifty dollars, amount of rent due. So the lawyer got fifteen dollars for his three hundred!
CHAPTER XII.
BASENESS OF CHARACTER.
WHILE the events detailed in the last few chapters were progressing, the time for Dunbar's marriage with the wealthy Miss Gay was drawing near. A handsome house was taken in Arch street, at a rent of eight hundred dollars, and furnished at an expense of nearly ten thousand. The young attorney had a great idea of style, and was anxious to make an impression on the public mind. The fact that he was rising in the world, he wished all to know, and he thought that with a hundred thousand dollars he could make quite an impression. The hundred thousand dollars were to be made up by his future wife's fortune, his share of the thirty thousand dollars to be received from Harrison for betraying and ruining his client, and by what he had already accumulated.
The wedding occasion was to be celebrated by a large party given by the aunt of Miss Gay, at which the most fashionable people in the city were to be present.
Long before this period, Dunbar had removed from his father's house as too obscure and humble for one of his standing, and for three or four years boarded at a large hotel in Chestnut-street. He did not go home very often, and when he did there was something in his manner that affected his parents disagreeably. Evidently he felt as much contempt for their low condition and ignorance as he felt pride in his own elevation.
In thinking of the large wedding party to be, and of the crowd of great and fashionable people who were to be there, he could not help feeling unpleasant at the idea of having such plain, common-looking people present as his parents, and especially under the acknowledgment of bearing so important a relation to him. As to his sisters, they had degraded themselves in his eyes, and he had no thought of inviting them and their "vulgar husbands." He was under no obligation, he felt, to do that.
"You will, of course, be at the wedding," he said to his father and mother, about a week before the event named was to take place. His tone belied his words! If he had said, "Of course you will not be at the wedding," the words and tone would have been in true correspondence.
"I suppose we ought to be there," replied old Mr. Dunbar, a little coldly, "I hardly think there are any who have a better right."
"You will invite Ellen and Mary," said the mother.
"I can't invite them without inviting their husbands, and I certainly shall not introduce them to my friends as brothers-in-law."
"And why not, pray?" asked the father, with some sternness of manner.
"Low, vulgar mechanics among the first people of the city? I must beg to be excused." And the young attorney drew himself up proudly.
"They are honest and honorable men; characters not too plenty even among your first people, as you call them." There was an indignant expression in the old man's voice.
"I don't care what they are, father. They occupy one position and I another. I never approved of my sisters marrying them, and never will. I never intended to have any intercourse with them, and never will. That matter I settled long and long ago. I shall not invite them to my wedding, nor insult Mary and Ellen by inviting them alone."
"You are an unnatural brother!" said Mrs. Dunbar, speaking with great warmth. She could no longer control her indignant feelings. She well knew the worth of Ellen and Mary, and the excellence of the men they had married. From both she received, at all times, the most affectionate attentions, while her son Lawrence had, for years, treated her with neglect or ill-concealed contempt.
"You may think of me as you please, mother," replied the young man, in a slight insulting manner. "But I know what is due to myself and to my standing in society, and shall not be tempted to forget it. It is no fault of mine, that my sisters degraded themselves."
"Silence!" exclaimed the old man, sternly. "I will not hear language so false and insulting. They have not degraded themselves. They cannot! Better children than are Mary and Ellen no parents ever had. I wish we could say as much for our son, for whose sake they were deeply wronged. To elevate you, Lawrence, they were depressed; and now you spurn them with your foot contemptuously. Truly have you risen in the world—risen above all that is just, noble, and honorable. Thus is our folly, thus is our injustice to those good girls, your sisters, repaid!"
"If you can receive me at home in no better spirit, I shall remain away." This was said coldly and deliberately.
"Cockatrice! Go!" said the father, passionately.
Lawrence Dunbar turned suddenly on his heel and left the house.
"That was too harsh, father," said Mrs. Dunbar to her husband, as the tears fell slowly over her time-marked face.
"I don't know. Such language from a child stings worse than the fang of a serpent. I could not bear it."
"He will hardly come home again."
"Let him stay away then. His visits have never been frequent nor pleasant. He has come in mere shame at his neglect whenever he has come, and rarely went away without insulting us in word or manner. Our hope was that he might rise in the world, and we denied ourselves and wronged our daughters, that he might have the fullest opportunity; and thus he repays us."
Old Mr. Dunbar did not see that the fruit of his son's mature life was but a legitimate growth from the seeds he had at first planted in his mind. He had been taught to look at eminence in the world as an end, and not as the means to a higher end—usefulness to mankind. The son was to rise; but he was not taught that discrimination as to the means of rising must be used. The end was the main thing, and whatever means were considered favorable to its attainment, were adopted without a moment's hesitation. But he did think of Mary Lee, and how different it must have been if she had become the wife of his son.
The gay wedding took place without the presence of a single member of Dunbar's family. The interview with his parents had disturbed the lawyer a good deal, but, upon the whole, he was not sorry that it had occurred. If the old people were going to hold on to his sisters and their husbands, a separation would have to take place at any rate, and the earlier, he felt, the better.
Among others present at the wedding was Mr. Harrison, who had been able, just three days before, to throw Malcolm's case out of court by means of the defect which Dunbar had purposely left in his bill. The latter observed, with some surprise, that Harrison was on the most intimate and even familiar terms with his bride. On inquiry, he was informed that Harrison was an old and intimate friend of his bride's father, and her legal guardian. This surprised him more, and did not make him feel altogether comfortable. On the very day before, he had received thirty thousand dollars from Harrison, for playing false to his client, and had given the old man a receipt, the tenor of which he thought peculiar, but which Harrison insisted upon having before paying the money. It was as follows:—
"Received of Malcolm Harrison the sum of thirty thousand dollars in full of all demands, past, present, and to come, it being understood that the parties know each other too well ever to venture upon any new transactions.
"LAWRENCE DUNBAR."