MR. WEEMS.—TOM BENNET’S WAY.—MR. GUNN’S PROPOSAL.—BREACH OF PROMISE.—THE TRIAL. O
NE morning, Mr. Julius Weems sat in his studio, dressed in velvet working jacket and slouching hat. With palette on thumb, brush in hand, and pipe in mouth, Mr. Weems was endeavoring to give a sufficiently aged appearance to a “Saul and Witch of Endor,” by Salvator Rosa.
“Hang it,” said Mr. Weems to himself, as he placed a dab of burnt umber on the withered cheek of the hag, “everything seems to go wrong! It was bad enough to have old Cowdrick dupe me in the way he did; but right on top of that, to hear from Crook and Gudgem that the Rubens business is being overdone, and that they have had eight St. Ethelbertas offered to them during the week, is a little too much. If the entire profession of artists is going to turn to painting old masters, I will have to come down to modern art and poor prices. It’s165 the worst luck! There is no chance at all for a man to earn an honest living!”
Mr. Weems’s soliloquy was interrupted by a light knocking upon his door. Hastily throwing a cloth over the picture upon his easel, and turning two Titians and a Raphael with their faces to the wall, Mr. Weems opened the door and admitted the visitor.
“Good morning!” said the intruder. “Don’t know me, I suppose?”
“No.” responded Mr. Weems.
“My name is Gunn; Benjamin P. Gunn.”
“I have heard of you. You are interested in life assurance, I believe? A canvasser, or something?”
“Yes, I was; but I have given that up now. The business was overdone. I grew tired of it!”
“You don’t know anything, then, about Mr. Cowdrick’s case? I mean whether he had much on his life or not?”
“Oh! well, I have heard that he was insured for fifty thousand or so; I don’t remember the exact amount. But it makes no difference.”
“Will the widow be likely to get it if he is dead?”
“In my opinion she will have a mighty slim chance of collecting anything, even if she can prove that he is actually deceased. From what I know of the President of the Widows’ and Orphans’ Mutual Life Insurance Company, I believe he will166 fight the claim through all the courts. That is his rule. Nearly all the companies do it.”
“What! even if it is a clear case for the policy-holder?”
“Of course! That is the regular thing. They’ll worry a widow so that she will be glad to compromise on half the claim, and by the time she has paid her lawyers most of that is gone.”
“That seems hard!”
“Yes; that is one of the reasons why I quit. Take the case of Lemuel A. Gerlach, for example. You remember it?”
“No.”
“Well, sir, I did my best to persuade that man to insure. He didn’t want to; but I harried him into it. I waited on him at his office; I disturbed him at his meals; I lay in wait for him when he came home from the club; I followed him to the sea-shore in summer; when he went yachting I pursued him with a steam-tug; when he was sick I got the apothecary to enclose our circulars with his medicine; I sat next to him in church for four consecutive Sundays, and slipped mortality tables into his prayer-book; I rode with him in the same carriage when he went to funerals, and lectured him all the way out to the cemetery upon the uncertainty of human life. Finally, he succumbed. I knew he would. It was only a question of time. I took him down to the office; the company’s surgeon167 examined him, and said he was the healthiest man he ever saw—not a flaw in him anywhere. So he paid his premium and got his policy. Two months later he died. When Mrs. Gerlach called to get her money, the President threatened to have her put out of the office because she denied that Gerlach’s liver was torpid when he took out his policy.”
“Did they pay, finally?”
“Pay! not a dollar! The widow sued to recover, and the company put the surgeon and eight miscellaneous doctors on the stand to prove that Gerlach for years had been a complete physical wreck, with more diseases than most people ever heard of; and they undertook to show that Gerlach had devoted the latter part of his life to organizing a scheme for foisting himself upon the company for the purpose of swindling it. That was five years ago. The case is pending in the courts yet, and the widow has already spent twenty per cent. more than the face of the policy.”
“It was not a very profitable speculation, certainly.”
“No, sir; it wasn’t. I’ll tell you what, Mr. Weems, if a man wants to realize on his departed relatives, that is not the way to do it. Anything is better than life insurance; even Tom Bennet’s way.”
“How was that?”
168 “Why, Tom Bennet, you know, is a friend of mine, who lives out in Arkansas. And one day, some years ago, a little cemetery in the town in which he lived was sold out by the sheriff. Tommy was looking about for a site on which to build a house for himself, and, as this one happened to suit him, he bid on it, and got it at a very low figure. When he began to dig the cellar, Tom found that the folks who were interred in the place had been petrified, to a man. Every occupant turned to solid stone! So Tom, you know, being a practical kind of man, made up his mind to quarry out the departed, and to utilize them for building material.”
“Rather unkind, wasn’t it?”
“Tom didn’t appear to think so. And as the building made progress, he rubbed down Mr. Flaherty for a door-sill, and had Judge Paterson chipped off with a chisel into the handsomest hitching-post that you ever saw.”
“Horrible!”
“Yes. Some of the McTurk family were put into the bow-window, between the sashes, and the whole of the families of Major Magill and Mr. Dougherty were worked into the foundation. And when the roof was going on, Tom Bennet took General Hidenhooper, and bored a flue through the crown of his head downward, so as to use him for a chimney-top. The edifice, when completed, presented a rather striking appearance.”
169 “What did the surviving relatives have to say?”
“They were indignant, of course; but as the courts decided that the petrifactions, without doubt, were part of the real estate, and were included in the title-deeds, they could do nothing but remonstrate, and Tom paid no attention to that.”
“Then it is your professional opinion,” said Mr. Weems, returning to the subject uppermost in his mind, “that the Insurance Company will not pay, even if Mr. Cowdrick be found to be dead!”
Mr. Gunn smiled in a peculiar manner, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he said: “Really, you know, Mr. Weems, there is no use of discussing that contingency. Cowdrick is not dead.”
“How do you know?”
“Why, that is the very thing I called to see you about. I am on the detective force now. Regularly employed by the police authorities. I know exactly where Cowdrick is, and I have had him under surveillance from the very first day that he left home.”
“Why haven’t you arrested him, then?”
Mr. Gunn laughed. “Oh, it was not worth while. I knew I could get him whenever I wanted him. It never pays to be in a hurry with such matters.”
“A heavy reward has been offered for him, I believe,” said Mr. Weems.
“That’s just it,” replied Mr. Gunn.
170 “I don’t understand you.”
“Why, the authorities express their anxiety to catch him, by offering to pay five hundred dollars to accomplish the feat. Now, the question is, will Cowdrick’s friends express their wish that he shall not be caught, by going a little higher, say up to one thousand dollars?”
“But I cannot imagine why you should come to me with such a proposition. Why don’t you go to Mrs. Cowdrick?”
“I’d rather deal with a man; a man understands business so much better. And as you are interested in Cowdrick’s family, going, as it were, to be near and dear to him, it struck me that maybe you might give him a chance to go off quietly upon a trip to Europe, or somewhere, and save him from a term of years in jail. How does it strike you?”
“Very unfavorably. In the first place, I have not enough money for your purpose; and, in the second place, if I did have it, I should decline to expend it for the benefit of Mr. Cowdrick.”
“Then you refuse to negotiate?”
“Yes, positively.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Detective Gunn, rising, “I merely wished to ascertain what your views were. Pardon me for interrupting you. No offence, I hope? Good morning.” And Mr. Gunn withdrew, while Weems closed and bolted the door.
The artist had hardly seated himself, and resumed171 the work of depicting the Witch of Endor, when another visitor knocked at the door. Mr. Weems arose, drew the bolt, and opened the door wide enough to permit him to look out.
“May I come in?” asked Leonie Cowdrick, with an effort at cheeriness in her voice.
“Oh, certainly. Glad to see you,” replied Mr. Weems, admitting her. But Mr. Weems did not look as if he really felt very glad.
“Pardon me for calling, Julius,” she said, “but I think I must have left my satchel when I was here last week. I cannot find it anywhere.”
Poor thing! Any excuse would have sufficed to account for her coming to try to discover why it was that her lover had not visited her for nearly a week.
“I do not think it is here,” said Mr. Weems; “I am sure it is not, or I should have seen it.”
“Then it is lost beyond recovery,” exclaimed Leonie, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself, while she looked very hard at the artist, who pretended to be busy with his picture.
“Haven’t heard anything from your father yet, I suppose?” said Mr. Weems, after a painful interval of silence.
“Nothing; absolutely nothing. Poor mother is nearly distracted. We are in great trouble. And I thought, Julius, you would have been with us more during this trial.”
172 “Well,” said Mr. Weems, “you see I have been so very busy, and I have had so many engagements, that I could not find time enough to call very frequently.”
“It looked almost like neglect,” said Leonie, sadly. “I could hardly bear it.” And she put her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Confound it!” said Mr. Weems to himself, “now there is going to be a scene.”
“Mother said she could hardly believe that you really loved me,” continued Leonie.
“She said that, did she?” asked Mr. Weems, somewhat bitterly. “Did she ask you if you really loved me?”
“No, Julius; she knows that I do. You know it, too.”
“Love,” said the artist, “means faith, trust, fair play, and candor, among other things, I have always thought.”
“What do you mean by that, Julius?”
“Well, I don’t want to be unkind, Leonie; but do you think that a woman who truly loved a man would misrepresent her age to him; or that she would be absolutely silent respecting previous engagements that she had contracted? How do I know that you care more for me than you did for Baxter and the others?”
“Mr. Weems,” exclaimed Leonie, indignantly, “this is cruel. It is worse,—it is shameful. You173 seem to have known all there was to know, without seeking information from me.”
“That is what made it so very painful,” replied Mr. Weems, trying to look as if his feelings had experienced a terrible wrench. “It was dreadful to learn from outside sources what I should have heard from your own lips. When a woman pretends to give me her heart, I expect her to give me her confidence also.”
“Pretends!” exclaimed Leonie, rising. “Pretends! What do you mean, sir, by ‘pretends’! Do you dare to insinuate that I deliberately deceived you?”
“Well,” said Mr. Weems, calmly, “that is perhaps a rather violent construction of my language; but we will not quarrel over phrases.”
“I did not think,” said Leonie, tearfully but vehemently, “that I should be insulted when I came here,—insulted in the midst of my grief. It is unmanly, sir! It is cowardly! It is infamous!”
“I am sorry that you take that view of it. I did not intend to be discourteous, I am sure. Pray pardon me if I was so. It is clear, however, that, after what has passed, we can hardly sustain our former relation to each other.”
“I understand you, sir,” replied Leonie, scornfully; “I fully realize your meaning. You intended at the outset to break our engagement. Well, sir, it is broken. I am glad to break it. I regard you174 with scorn and contempt. Hereafter we shall be as strangers to each other.”
“I submit to your decision,” returned the artist. “But—but, of course, you will return my letters?”
Leonie laughed a wild and bitter laugh, and, gathering up her skirts as if she feared contamination, she swept haughtily from the room, without speaking another word.
“That is settled, at any rate!” said Mr. Weems, as he closed the door. “That is just what I wanted. I can’t afford to marry poverty. But it is a bad business about those letters of mine! I wonder if she intends to use them against me?” And Mr. Weems, relighting his pipe, sat down in his easy-chair to make a mental review of the situation.
Mr. Weems was not permitted to remain long in doubt respecting the intentions of Miss Cowdrick. Upon the very next day he received from Messrs. Pullock and Shreek, attorneys, formal notice that Miss Leonie Cowdrick had authorized them to bring a suit against him for breach of promise of marriage, the claim for pecuniary damages being laid at thirty thousand dollars.
Mr. Weems regarded the proceeding with not a little alarm; but, upon consulting his lawyer, Mr. Porter, and detailing to him the conversation between the artist and Leonie at the time of the rupture, Mr. Weems was assured that he could make an excellent defence upon the theory that the lady175 had broken the engagement; and he was strongly advised to permit the case to go to trial.
It did so right speedily; for the attorneys for the plaintiff secured for it an early place upon the list, and they manifested a disposition to push the defendant in the most unmerciful manner permitted by the law.
When the case was called for trial, Mr. Weems’s lawyer moved for a postponement; and he pleaded, argued, fought, and begged for his motion as if the life of his client and his own happiness were staked upon a brief delay. As Mr. Weems was quite ready to proceed, he could not imagine why there should be such earnest contention respecting this point. But, of course, it was the regular professional thing to do. Mr. Weems’s lawyer did not really want a continuance. He merely cared to put himself right upon the record by conducting the performance in the customary manner.
Messrs. Pullock and Shreek, counsel for the plaintiff, resisted the motion vigorously. When Mr. Shreek arose to address the court, with regard to it, the unpractised spectator would have supposed that the learned counsel was amazed as well as shocked at the conduct of the defence in asking that the arm of justice should be stayed, even for a week, from visiting punishment upon the monster who was now called to answer for his offences. It seemed really to grieve Mr. Shreek, to distress and176 hurt him, that the counsel for the defence, a member of an honorable profession, and a man who, upon ordinary occasions, had the respect of society and the confidence of his fellow-creatures, should so far set at defiance all considerations of propriety, all sense of what was due to the lovely sufferer who came here for protection and redress, and all the demands of justice, honor, and decency, as to try to keep the hideous facts of this case even for a time from the attention of an intelligent and sympathetic jury.
Mr. Shreek, as he brought his remarks to a close, was so deeply moved by the scandalous nature of the conduct of counsel for the defence, that Mr. Weems was disposed to believe that the breach between them was final and irreparable; but a moment later, when Judge Winker decided that the trial must proceed at once, Mr. Weems was surprised to perceive his lawyer and Mr. Shreek chatting and laughing together precisely as if Mr. Shreek had not regarded Mr. Porter’s behavior with mingled horror and disgust.
In selecting the jurymen, the manifest purpose of the lawyers upon both sides was to reject every man of ordinary intelligence, and to prefer the persons who seemed, from their appearance, least likely to possess the power of reaching a rational conclusion upon any given subject. And when the jury had been obtained, Mr. Weems, looking at177 them, thought that he had never, in all his life, seen twelve more stupid-looking men.
Leonie Cowdrick came in as the case opened, and took a seat close by Mr. Pullock. She was dressed with exquisite taste, and Mr. Weems was really surprised to perceive that she seemed quite pretty.
Her face was partly covered by a veil, and in her hand she carried a kerchief, with which occasionally she gently touched her eyes.
It was clear enough that Mr. Pullock had her in training for the purpose of producing effects upon the jury, for whenever during the proceedings anything of a pathetic nature was developed, Mr. Pullock signalled her, and at once her handkerchief went to her face.
The trial endured through two days, and much of the time was occupied by wrangles, squabbles, and fierce recriminations between the lawyers, who, after working themselves into furious passion, and seeming ready to fall upon each other and tear each other to pieces, invariably resumed their friendly intercourse during the recesses, and appeared ready to forgive and forget all the injuries of the past.
One of the jurymen was asleep during the larger portion of the sessions upon both days; two others paid no attention to the evidence, but persistently gaped about the court-room, and the remainder seemed to consider the quarrels between the counsel178 as the only matters of genuine importance in the case. During the first day Mr. Detective Gunn came in, and seeing Mr. Weems, went over to whisper in his ear that Cowdrick had been arrested, and would reach town upon the morrow.
“We had to take the reward,” said Gunn. “Not one of his friends would give any more. It’s a pity for the old man, too! I see well enough now why you wouldn’t lend a hand.” And Mr. Gunn looked toward Leonie, and laughed.
When Mr. Porter was not engaged in examining or cross-examining a witness, he addressed his attention to the task of getting upon terms of jolly good-fellowship with the members of the jury who remained awake. He sat near to the foreman, and he was continually passing j............