John Marvel, Assistant Part 20

"Oh, do you think so? My sister and I were thinking of consulting him about our affairs--our railroad case, you know."

"Oh! Well, what do you know about him?"

"Nothing yet. You see, he has just come; but he joined us on the street this morning when we were going out--just shopping--and offered to take our bundles--just two little bundles we had in our hands, and was so polite. My dear, he has quite the grand air!"

"Oh, I see. Well, that does not necessarily make him a safe adviser. Why not let me ask my father about your matter? He is a railroad man, and could tell you in a minute all about it."

"Oh, could you? That would be so kind in you."

"But you must tell me the name of the road in which you had the stock."

"Oh, my dear. I don't know that I can do that. I only know that it was the Transcontinental and something and something else. I know that much, because it was only about sixty miles long, and we used to say that the name was longer than the road. My father used to say that it would some day be a link in a transcontinental chain--that's where it got its name, you know."

"Well, look out for your prince in disguise," said the girl, smiling as she rose to take her leave.

That evening at dinner, after Eleanor had given her father an account of her day, with which she always beguiled him, including a description of her visit to the two old ladies, she suddenly asked, "Father, what railroad was it that used to be known as the Transcontinental Something and Something?'"

"The what?"

"The 'Transcontinental Something and Something Else?' It was about sixty miles long, and was bought up by some bigger road and reorganized."

"I suppose you mean the 'Transcontinental, North-western and Great Iron Range Road.' That about meets the condition you mention. What do you know about it?"

"Was it reorganized?"

"Yes; about twenty years ago, and again about ten years ago. I never quite understood the last reorganization. Mr. Argand had it done--and bought up most of the stock."

"Was any one squeezed out?"

"Sure--always are in such cases. That is the object of a reorganization--partly. Why are you so interested in it?" Mr. Leigh's countenance wore an amused look.

"I have two friends--old ladies--who lost everything they had in it."

"I guess it wasn't much. What is their name?"

"It was all they had. They are named Tipps."

Mr. Leigh's expression changed from amus.e.m.e.nt to seriousness.

"Tipps--Tipps?" he repeated reminiscently. "Ba.s.sett Tipps? I wonder if they were connected with Ba.s.sett Tipps?"

"They were his daughters--that was their father's name. I remember now, Miss Pansy told me once."

"You don't say so! Why, I used to know Colonel Tipps when he was the big man of this region. He commanded this department before I came out here to live, and the old settlers thought he was as great a man as General Washington. He gave old Argand his start. He built that road,--was, in fact, a man of remarkable foresight, and if he had not been killed--Argand was his agent and general factotum--They didn't come into the reorganization, I guess?"

"That's it--they did not--and now they want to get their interest back."

"Well, tell them to save their money," said Mr. Leigh. "It's gone--they can't get it back."

"They want you to get it back for them."

"Me!" exclaimed Mr. Leigh. "They want me to get it back! Oh, ho-ho!

They'd better go after your Aunt Sophia and Canter."

"Yes; I told them you would."

"You did?" Mr. Leigh's eyes once more lit up with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Yes: you see they were robbed of every cent they had in the world, and they have not a cent left."

"Oh! no, they were not robbed. Everything was properly done and absolutely regular, as I remember. It must have been. I think there was some sort of claim presented afterward by the Tipps Estate which was turned down. Let me see; McSheen had the claim, and he gave it up--that was when? Let me see. He became counsel for your Uncle Argand in--what year was it?--you were a baby--it must have been eighteen years ago."

"That was nineteen years ago, sir. I am now twenty," said his daughter, sitting up with a very grand air.

The father's eyes lit up with pride and affection as he gazed at the trim, straight figure and the glowing face.

"You were just a little baby--so big." He measured a s.p.a.ce of about two span with his hands. "That was your size then, for I know I thought your Uncle Argand might have made me counsel instead of McSheen. But he didn't. And that was McSheen's start."

"He sold out," said the girl with decision.

"Oh, no--I don't think he would do that. He is a lawyer."

"Yes, he would. He's a horrid, old, disreputable rascal. I've always thought it, and now I know it. And I want you to get my old ladies'

interest back for them."

"I can't do that. No one can. It's too long ago. If they ever had a claim it's all barred, long ago."

"It oughtn't to be--if it was stolen," persisted his daughter, "and it was."

XV

THE LADY OF THE VIOLETS

Having decided that Mrs. Kale's did not present the best advantages, I determined to move to more suitable quarters. I chose a boarding-house, partly by accident and partly because it was in a semi-fashionable quarter which I liked, and I paid Mrs. Starling, the landlady, a decisive person, two weeks' board in advance, so as to have that long a lease at any rate, and a point from which to take my bearings. I had learned of the place through Kalender, who was deeply enamored of Miss Starling, a Byzantine-hued young lady, and who regarded the house somewhat as Adam is a.s.sumed to have regarded Eden after his banishment.

Mrs. Starling was, in this case, the angel of the flaming sword. She had higher ambitions for Miss Starling.

I had less than forty dollars left, and fifteen of that was borrowed next day by a fellow-boarder named Pushkin, who occupied the big front room adjoining my little back hall-room, and who had "forgotten to draw any money out of bank," he said, but would "return it the next day at dinner time," a matter he also forgot. I was particularly struck with him not because he had a t.i.tle and was much kotowed to by our landlady and her boarders--especially the ladies, as because I recalled his name in juxtaposition with Miss Leigh's in the flamboyant account of the ball the night after I arrived.

I was now ensconced in a little pigeon-hole of an office in a big building near the court-house, where, with a table, two chairs, and a dozen books, I had opened what I called my "law office," without a client or an acquaintance; but with abundant hopes.

I found the old principle on which I had been reared set at naught, and that life in its entirety was a vast struggle based on selfishness.

I was happy enough at first, and it was well I was. It was a long time before I was happy again. Having in mind Miss Leigh, I wrote and secured a few letters of introduction; but they were from people who did not care anything for me to people who did not care anything about them--semi-fashionable folk, mainly known in social circles, and I had no money to throw away on society. One, indeed, a friend of mine had gotten for me from Mr. Poole to a man of high standing both in business and social circles, the president of a manufacturing company, with which, as I learned later, Mr. Poole had formerly some connection. This gentleman's name was Leigh, and I wondered if he were the same person who had been posted by Kalender at the head of my story of the delayed train. I thought of presenting the letter. It, however, was so guarded that I thought it would not do me the least good, and, besides, I did not wish to owe anything to Lilian Poole's father, for I felt sure his influence had always been against me, and I was still too sore to be willing to accept a favor at his hands.

It was well I did not present it, for Mr. Poole with well-considered and characteristic prudence, had written a private letter restricting the former letter to mere social purposes, and had intimated that I had been a failure in my profession and was inclined to speculate. This character he had obtained, as I subsequently learned, from Peck.