CHAPTER IV.
“THE BOY IS FATHER OF THE MAN.”
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WHEN a rich man dies, everybody says: “is it possible!”
as though it were quite an impossible thing for audacious
Death to grapple with a man of wealth: when a lawyer
dies, all the courts adjourn with complimentary speeches, and
Justice sheathes her terrible left-handed sword and pockets
her scales for a whole day, as though lawyers were so exceedingly
rare that the loss of one deserved to be wept as a public
calamity; and when a merchant dies, all the ships in the harbour
hoist their flags half-mast, out of respect to his memory,
as though the business of merchandizing was one of such exceeding
honor to humanity that the bare accident of being
connected with it conferred such peculiar merit upon a man
that his loss called for a public demonstration of grief. This
last compliment was paid to Mr. Tuck; and while there was
but one pair of eyes that wept a tear at his funeral, there were
hundreds of yards of bunting, of all possible colors and combinations,
drooping from the half-mast-heads of innumerable
sea-going crafts at the wharfs, and in the river, and bay,
out of respect to his memory.
The old man had been buried; his name had already passed
out of the memories of those who had but just wept him in
bunting; and the world was moving on to all appearance as
usual, when Mrs. Tuck, the dignified sister-in-law of the
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deceased, sat down in her back parlor surrounded and supported
in her hour of grief by her three children;—Those
juveniles that kept her in such a continued shifting between
bliss and misery that it would have puzzled her to strike a
balance of the two accounts and carry the result to the right
side. The whole party were clad in deep mourning, and
if it be permitted to departed spirits to look upon the scenes
that they have just left, a doctrine which finds many believers
even in this unbelieving age, Mr. Tuck must have looked
down upon this little family party with great complacency
when he saw how deeply they mourned his loss—in dress.
They had evidently just returned from the house of mourning,
and their minds were occupied with serious things. The
oldest brother, who assumed all the prerogatives which primogeniture
confers in monarchical countries, was the first to
break silence.
“So, Miss,” said T. Jefferson Tuck to his sister, “you will
get married now, considerably quick; and I and your mother
who have had the care of you all your life, will have about
as wide a space in your affections, as we had in your estimable
uncle's. Confound him!”
“Now boys,” said Mrs. Tuck, who spoke with remarkable
clearness considering that she had just come from the funeral
of a relative, for whose sake she had clothed herself in
such very deep mourning, “remember that Julia is your
sister—”
“I hope we may be reminded of that fact by the young
lady herself,” said Fred, interrupting his mother.
“And I hope,” said the sister, “that I may be made to feel
it by some token of brotherly kindness or consideration from
you. But if I was not entitled to it before your uncle's death,
I have no right to claim it now.”
“O! ah!' ejaculated the younger brother.
“Now, Fred,” interrupted the mother.
“My uncle's will is not my will,” continued the sister,
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“and it can have no influence upon either my affections or
my actions. As to marriage, it is not for me to say what I
may do.” She had been weeping bitterly when the taunting
remarks of her brothers caused her to reply to them, and as
she concluded her speech she sank upon an ottoman and again
gave way to her grief.
“Pooh!” ejaculated her brother Tom contemptously.
“O, my!” said Fred, and tearing the crape from his hat,
he added, “put that to your mourning,” as he threw it towards
her, “I don't believe in hypocrisy, and I won't wear
mourning for that old miser.”
“Don't do that,” said Tom, giving his brother a sharp
look, “remember you owe something to appearances—to the
family—”
“And to your father's memory,” added his mother.
“Well, then sew it on again,” replied the repentant brother,
“I wish I could pay all that I owe as easily.”
“Now my children,” said Mrs. Tuck, “all our expectations
are at an end, we have nothing to hope from your dear
father's brother, and we must live for each other—”
“And on each other,” said Fred.
“And with each other,” said the mother, “When Julia
gets married I am sure she will not forget us; and you, boys,
can go on with your business; and your sister will always be
ready and willing, I can promise you, to help you with a
little capital; and we shall live very genteely, and keep the
same company that we always have done. My daughter,
why do you weep so; remember that your uncle was a very
old man, and you should have been prepared for his death.”
“I was prepared for his death,” said the young lady, “but
I was not prepared to find that he had regarded me with such
fondness, and I cannot but weep now that I had not known
it while he was living, that I might have been more kind and
attentive to him. Ah me, I fear I shall never know such
another friend.”
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“What, with all that money!” said Fred, “never you fear;
you'll have friends enough.”
“Now listen to me,” said Tom, “just mind what I say.
Here is Julia will get something when she's married; but
when she is married, we shall have no claims upon her: and
her husband will not care two straws about us. In that view
of the case, of course we are dished. But if Julia will be a
sensible girl, and listen to reason, we'll do better. The conditions
of the will are, that she is to come into possession of
her uncle's share of the capital of the firm, which comprises
about all he has left, upon the day of her marriage. Now,
observe it is upon the day of her marriage, and not the day
after; therefore if she can persuade old Tremlett, who is the
executor, to put her in possession of the money, she can immediately
make over two thirds of the property to us, which
is our share, and then when she is married in the evening,
she can hand over the balance to her husband, who will not
find fault with the arrangement if he be an honorable man
and if he should grumble at it I will challenge him for insulting
my sister. But I am afraid that this plan could not be
carried out, for old Tremlett is a precise character, and if
Julia should take it into her head to marry his adopted son,
he would see that the young fellow gets all that belonged to
him.”
“That's a capital plan, Tom, and Julia might bring it
about if she were disposed to do so.”
“It is not safe to trust to it,” replied the elder brother; “but
I will suggest a plan that she might carry out, and which she
must carry out, if she have any regard for her family, and
that is, not to marry any man who will not sign an agreement
to give us two thirds of the estate that she may bring him;
and I can promise her she shall never marry upon any other
conditions.”
“You ought to have learned by this time,” replied their
sister rising from the ottoman and walking proudly across
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the room, “that the only power which ever compelled me
was the power of kindness and love. I am willing to do
more, perhaps, than either of you would have the heart to
ask, but I will do nothing by force. The debt I owe you is
easily paid, but I shall not even pay that, small as it is, upon
compulsion.”
“Yes Madam,” said her brother Tom, “I have not forgotten
the trick you played us with that pocket book to screen
that young thief upon whom your thoughts are settling just
now; and but for that we should have been as well off as
yourself. When you talk of paying debts my lady, please to
bear in mind that that debt is not omitted in my schedule.
It has got to be paid in full yet. So be careful how you
threaten.”
A sudden interruption at this moment prevented one of the
most thrilling scenes that was probably ever described in history,
and deprived us of an opportunity of improving our pen
in the service of the Tragic Muse.
The door opened and a servant beckoned to the elder
brother who returned after a moment's absence and requested
the other parties to retire and leave him alone with a friend
with whom he had some particular business.
“Well, Jacobs, you are a precious rascal,” said the elder
Tuck to his business friend, who entered the back parlor as
soon as the others had left it; “your name is Dennis, and no
mistake. If you are not hung after the next Oyer and Terminer,
you may thank my benevolent bumps.”
“Well, if I am hung;” replied Mr. Jacobs, for that was the
gentleman's name, “I know who'll dance upon nothink about
the same time.”
“Yes I dare say you do;” replied Tom, “thieves and murderers
generally have accomplices.”
“You may say that without much wisk,” said Mr. Jacobs,
“when you are an accomplish yourself.”
“Come sir,” said Tom, with an air, “I shall have no
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insolence, and if you open your Jew's mouth in that manner
again, I will have you taken immediately to prison. Do you
know that hand writing sir? Mr. G. Washington Mortimer,”
and so saying Mr. T. Jefferson Tuck held a scrap of dirty
brown paper up to his friend's eyes.
“Ha! ha! Where did you get that document fwom?” inquired
Mr. Jacobs.
“I know where I got it from,” said Tom; “and where
I got it there's plenty more blacker and ranker. Enough to
hang you half a dozen times.”
Mr. Jacobs looked a little abashed, if that term can properly
be applied to a gentleman of his entire self-possession; and in
a somewhat subdued manner asked for an explanation.
“The truth is Jacobs,” said Tom, “you are known; and
officers are in pursuit of you. Remember old fellow that I
cautioned you in the beginning not to make the dose too strong,
all that I hired you to do, was to put him into a sound sleep
so that you might get the will without waking him; and
what have you done? you have committed murder; and you
took the wrong will; and you have exposed yourself so that
you will be discovered. What did you make any reply for
when you were spoken to at the door? Did you not know
that your rascally voice would lead to your detection? I
warned you in time; but I will be generous to you nevertheless.
If you will promise me to leave New York this very
night, and never return here again, I will promise not to inform
against you.”
“Not without you pay me what you pwomised,” said Mr.
Jacobs, “I've pwefwomed my part, now you do yours.”
“Pay you indeed,” said Tom, “What should I pay you
for; for destroying my brilliant prospects? You took the
very will that I did not want, and the other, which he held
in his hand as if offering it to you, you never touched.”
“Well,” said Mr. Jacobs, “I went where you diwected
me to, and I was fweaful if I touched the papers in his hand I
should wake him.”
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“I am not answerable for your bungling work,” said Tom
“and if you think to include me in your villanies, just bear
in mind that you cannot bring a particle of evidence to support
your lies; so if you are not very obedient, I will have
you hung as sure as you stand there.”
“Poo! I am not fwightened at your talk about hanging;
didn't the cowoner's juwy bwing in that he died of the
disease of the heart. You can't hang this child no how,”
said Mr. Jacobs, “and as for that weceipt about the watch
its only a twansaction, there is nothing to fear about that.”
“Well,” said Tom: “your neck is your own, and of course
it's your own business whether you wear a hempen collar or
not. I shall not trouble myself about it.”
“Pay me the money you pwomised, then;” said Mr. Jacobs,
“I have had enough of you; I thought I was dealing
with a man of honor, give me my money and let me go. I'll
get clear of you as fast as I can.”
“I shall give you no money,” replied Tom, “you have
been the means of my losing one fortune, and I shall send
nothing after it.”
“Vewy good, then I shall not quit the city for the excellent
weason that I havn't got money enough to take me away,”
said Mr. Jacobs as he took hold of the door to go.
“Take this,” said Tom, reaching him a roll of bills, “and
let me never see your face again or you will hang for it, I
give you my word and honor.”
The gentleman caught hold of the bills eagerly, and having
thrust them into his pocket, he wished Mr. T. Jefferson Tuck
a very good night, and whispered in his ear confidentially
that if he should ever have occasion for his services he might
hear of him at the old place. And without any other exchange
of compliments the two friends parted.
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Briggs, Charles F. (Charles Frederick), 1804-1877 [1843], Bankrupt stories (John Allen, New York) [word count] [eaf024].
