The Second Generation Part 11

"I have been thinking of these things lately," said Hiram.

"It is the curse of the world, this inherited wealth," cried Hargrave.

"Because of it humanity moves in circles instead of forward. The ground gained by the toiling generations, is lost by the inheriting generations.

And this accursed inheritance tempts men ever to long for and hope for that which they have not earned. G.o.d gave man a trial of the plan of living in idleness upon that which he had not earned, and man fell. Then G.o.d established the other plan, and through it man has been rising--but rising slowly and with many a backward slip, because he has tried to thwart the Divine plan with the system of inheritance. Fortunately, the great ma.s.s of mankind has had nothing to leave to heirs, has had no hope of inheritances. Thus, new leaders have ever been developed in place of those destroyed by inherited prosperity. But, unfortunately, the law of inheritance has been able to do its devil's work upon the best element in every human society, upon those who had the most efficient and exemplary parents, and so had the best opportunity to develop into men and women of the highest efficiency. No wonder progress is slow, when the leaders of each generation have to be developed from the bottom all over again, and when the ideal of useful work is obscured by the false ideal of living without work. Waiting for dead men's shoes! Dead men's shoes instead of shoes of one's own."

"Dead men's shoes," muttered Hiram.

"The curse of unearned wealth," went on his friend. "Your life, Hiram, leaves to your children the injunction to work, to labor cheerfully and equally, honestly and helpfully, with their brothers and sisters; but your wealth--If you leave it to them, will it not give that injunction the lie, will it not invite them to violate that injunction?"

"I have been watching my children, my boy, especially," said Hiram. "I don't know about all this that you've been saying. It's a big subject; but I do know about this boy of mine. I wish I'd 'a' taken your advice, Mark, and put him in your school. But his mother was set on the East--on Harvard." Tears were in his eyes at this. He remembered how she, knowing nothing of college, but feeling it was her duty to have her children educated properly, a duty she must not put upon others, had sent for the catalogues of all the famous colleges in the country. He could see her poring over the catalogues, balancing one offering of educational advantage against another, finally deciding for Harvard, the greatest of them all. He could hear her saying: "It'll cost a great deal, Hiram. As near as I can reckon it out it'll cost about a thousand dollars a year--twelve hundred if we want to be v-e-r-y liberal, so the catalogue says. But Harvard's the biggest, and has the most teachers and scholars, and takes in all the branches. And we ought to give our Arthur the best."

And now--By what bitter experience had he learned that the college is not in the catalogue, is a thing apart, unrelated and immeasurably different!

His eyes were hot with anger as he thought how the boy's mother, honest, conscientious Ellen, had been betrayed.

"Look here, Mark," he blazed out, "if I leave money to your college I want to see that it can't ever be like them eastern inst.i.tutions of learning." He made a gesture of disgust. "Learning!"

"If you leave us anything, Hiram, leave it so that any young man who gets its advantages must work for them."

"That's it!" exclaimed Hiram. "That's what I want. Can you draw me up that kind of plan? No boy, no matter what he has at home, can come to that there college without working his way through, without learning to work, me to provide the chance to earn the living."

"I have just such a plan," said Hargrave, drawing a paper from his pocket. "I've had it ready for years waiting for just such an opportunity."

"Read it," said Hiram, sinking deep in his big chair and closing his eyes and beginning to rub his forehead with his great hand.

And Hargrave read, forgetting his surroundings, forgetting everything in his enthusiasm for this dream of his life--a university, in fact as well as in name, which would attract the ambitious children of rich and well-to-do and poor, would teach them how to live honestly and n.o.bly, would give them not only useful knowledge to work with but also the light to work by. "You see, Hiram, I think a child ought to begin to be a man as soon as he begins to live--a man, standing on his own feet, in his own shoes, with the courage that comes from knowing how to do well something which the world needs."

He looked at Hiram for the first time in nearly half an hour. He was alarmed by the haggard, ghastly gray of that majestic face; and his thought was not for his plan probably about to be thwarted by the man's premature death, but of his own selfishness in wearying and imperiling him by importunity at such a time. "But we'll talk of this again," he said sadly, putting the paper in his pocket and rising for instant departure.

"Give me the paper," said Hiram, putting out his trembling hand, but not lifting his heavy, blue-black lids.

Mark gave it to him hesitatingly. "You'd better put it off till you're stronger, Hiram."

"I'll see," said Hiram. "Good morning, Mark."

Judge Torrey was the next to get Ranger's summons; it came toward mid-afternoon of that same day. Like Hargrave, Torrey had been his life-long friend.

"Torrey," he said, "I want you to examine this plan"--and he held up the paper Hargrave had left--"and, if it is not legal, put it into legal shape, and incorporate it into my will. I feel I ain't got much time."

With a far-away, listening look--"I must put my house in order--in order.

Draw up a will and bring it to me before five o'clock. I want you to write it yourself--trust no one--no one!" His eyes were bright, his cheeks bluish, and he spoke in a thick, excited voice that broke and shrilled toward the end of each sentence.

"I can't do it to-day. Too much haste--"

"To-day!" commanded Hiram. "I won't rest till it's done!"

"Of course, I can--"

"Read the paper now, and give me your opinion."

Torrey put on his gla.s.ses, opened the paper. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "I remember this. It's in my partner's handwriting. Hargrave had Watson draw it up about five years ago. We were very careful in preparing it.

It is legal."

"Very well," continued Hiram. "Now I'll give you the points of my will."

Torrey took notebook and pencil from his pocket.

"First," began Hiram, as if he were reciting something he had learned by heart, "to my wife, Ellen, this house and everything in it, and the grounds and all the horses and carriages and that kind of thing."

"Yes," said Torrey, looking up from his note making.

"Second, to my wife an income of seven thousand a year for life--that is what it cost her and me to live last year, and the children--except the extras. Seven thousand for life--but only for life."

"Yes," said Torrey, his glance at Hiram now uneasy and expectant.

"Third, to my daughter, Adelaide, two thousand a year for her life--to be divided among her daughters equally, if she have any; if not, to revert to my estate at her death."

"Yes," said Torrey.

"Fourth, to my son, five thousand dollars in cash."

A long pause, Torrey looking at his old friend and client as if he thought one or the other of them bereft of his senses. At last, he said, "Yes, Hiram."

"Fifth, to my brothers, Jacob and Ezra, four hundred dollars each,"

continued Hiram, in his same voice of repeating by rote, "and to my sister Prudence, five thousand dollars--so fixed that her husband can't touch it."

"Yes," said Torrey.

"Sixth, the rest of my estate to be made into a trust, with Charles Whitney and Mark Hargrave and Hampden Scarborough trustees, with power to select their successors. The trust to be administered for the benefit of Tec.u.mseh University under the plan you have there."

Torrey half-rose from his chair, his usually calm features reflecting his inner contention of grief, alarm, and protest. But there was in Hiram's face that which made him sink back without having spoken.

"Seventh," continued Hiram, "the mills and the cooperage to be continued as now, and not to be sold for at least fifteen years. If my son Arthur wishes to have employment in them, he is to have it at the proper wages for the work he does. If at the end of fifteen years he wishes to buy them, he to have the right to buy, that is, my controlling interest in them, provided he can make a cash payment of ten per cent of the then value; and, if he can do that, he is to have ten years in which to complete the payment--or longer, if the trustees think it wise."

A long pause; Hiram seemed slowly to relax and collapse like a man stretched on the rack, who ceases to suffer either because the torture is ended or because his nerves mercifully refuse to register any more pain.

"That is all," he said wearily.

Torrey wiped his gla.s.ses, put them on, wiped them again, hung them on the hook attached to the lapel of his waistcoat, put them on, studied the paper, then said hesitatingly: "As one of your oldest friends, Hiram, and in view of the surprising nature of the--the--"

"I do not wish to discuss it," interrupted Hiram, with that gruff finality of manner which he always used to hide his softness, and which deceived everyone, often even his wife. "Come back at five o'clock with two witnesses."

Torrey rose, his body shifting with his shifting mind as he cast about for an excuse for lingering. "Very well, Hiram," he finally said. As he shook hands, he blurted out huskily, "The boy's a fine young fellow, Hi.

It don't seem right to disgrace him by cutting him off this way."

Hiram winced. "Wait a minute," he said. He had been overlooking the public--how the town would gossip and insinuate. "Put in this, Torrey,"

he resumed after reflecting. And deliberately, with long pauses to construct the phrases, he dictated: "I make this disposal of my estate through my love for my children, and because I have firm belief in the soundness of their character and in their capacity to do and to be. I feel they will be better off without the wealth which would tempt my son to relax his efforts to make a useful man of himself and would cause my daughter to be sought for her fortune instead of for herself."

"That may quiet gossip against your children," said Torrey, when he had taken down Hiram's slowly enunciated words, "but it does not change the extraordinary character of the will."