University of Virginia Library

22. XXII.
The Will Changes Hands.

MR. QUID having been a business-man, considers
it necessary to use some precautions
in approaching Mr. Blimmer: Mr. Blimmer being
also a business-man, thinks it advisable to exercise
some precaution in his interview with Mr. Quid.
A business-education is, indeed, a capital way of
sharpening the faculties, and making a man of spirit
cautious and prudent. I should say that a Wall
street tuition of eighteen months would be one of
the best sharpeners of the wits of a young man of
naturally dull parts, that could possibly be devised.

I never, indeed, allow myself to converse casually

with a Wall street man, without anticipating some
loss by the transaction. His own observations are
of that fragmentary, loose character, from which
little definite information can be gained; whereas,
he has a way of transmuting all your own small
coin of talk into his stock in trade. Thus, if I say,
“It's a cool morning,” he gives a value to the fact
by reckoning its influence on coal-stocks, and safely
presumes, other things being equal, upon a fractional
advance in Delaware and Hudson. If, I say,
“There's really no news stirring,” he calculates,
with a good deal of certainty, upon an upward tendency
in New Haven Railway—news being, for the
most part, confined, during stagnant seasons, to
reported accidents upon that vigorously-conducted
line of travel.

In the same manner, a general remark, in regard
to the healthy state of the money-market, is pretty
uniformly followed by a fall in Dauphin—that stock
bearing the same relation to moneyed value which
the vacuum in a thermometer bears to quicksilver,
to wit: negative.

Mr. Quid, then, is cautious in his approaches.
He bows respectfully as he enters Mr. Blimmer's
office, bidding him a very cordial good-morning.

Mr. Blimmer removes his feet from the stove, and
returns his salutation with interest.

Mr. Quid says, introducing himself:

“Mr. Quid, Mr. Blimmer.”

“Happy to see Mr. Quid,” says Blimmer.

“I am informed,” continues Quid, measuredly,
“that you were among those who escaped from the
wreck of the Eclipse.”

“Just so,” replies Blimmer.

“A terrible event!” And Mr. Quid blows his
nose.

“Very terrible!” says Blimmer, growing curious.

“I am informed,” continues Mr. Quid, “that a
gentleman of your name, doubtless Mr. Blimmer
himself, has given notice of certain information
which he had to communicate, of importance,
respecting an old gentleman who perished”—

Mr. Blimmer here recalls some business which
requires his attention, and calling his boy Jerry
from the corner, dispatches him with a note (an old
note, it seemed), to Fulton Ferry, giving him one
hour (and he looks at his watch), for the errand.
Mr. Quid observes this.

Mr. Blimmer begs pardon: but—as if he had
lost the previous thread of conversation—repeats:

“Sad affair, Mr. Quid, very sad.”

Mr. Quid repeats his suggestion: to which Mr.
Blimmer, being more collected, replies:

“Ah, yes; there was a hint of that sort—in the

Beacon, was it not? Rather unnecessary, to be
sure; but under such circumstances trifles are
noticed. The old gentleman begged to be kindly
remembered: a singular old gentleman, sir; died
easily, I believe; I did my best to help him ashore;
but he was quite rheumatic.”

“And the old gentleman's name was —.”

“Ah, you knew him! it was — bless me!”

“Bodgers, perhaps?”

“Bod-Bodyn-Bodgers—I think it was: Bodgers.”

“And there was no special message, which the
old gentleman left, Mr. Blimmer; no writing of any
kind?” pursued Quid, with a very strong accent on
the word writing.

Mr. Blimmer eyes Mr. Quid keenly, but swiftly.
Both, indeed, were keen-looking men on occasions.
This was one of those occasions.

“Let me see,” said Blimmer, recalling himself; I
“I think there was; a paper of some sort; a little
memorandum like; possibly in my pocket now (and
Mr. Blimmer rises). You are a relative, perhaps?
Mr. — I ask your pardon.”

“Quid, sir, Adolphus Quid.”

“Ah, quite right; I remember now; cousin,
perhaps, or relative?”

“Not a relative, but interested, Mr. Blimmer.”

“Ah, interested. On the part of the —
Fudges, perhaps? Respectable old gentleman is
Solomon Fudge; deserving man.”

“Not at all,” says Mr. Quid, speaking slowly
and pointedly. “I am interested more directly,
Mr. Blimmer, on the part of the heirs to Mr.
Bodgers' elder brother, who died many years ago
abroad, and whose descendants, as you will perceive,
Mr. Blimmer, are of much nearer kin than
either the Fleming or the Fudge branch of the
family.”

“Ah, so, quite so, Mr. Quid,” says Blimmer, who
appears to be anxiously rummaging the pockets of
sundry coats which hang against the wall; and
who does not seem to be very much embarrassed by
the earnestness of Mr. Quid's tone.

He does not find the memorandum just now; but
he makes no doubt of being able to do so; indeed,
if Mr. Quid will do him the favor to call later in
the day, he hopes to put him in possession of such
papers as he holds.

Mr. Quid is disturbed; but feigns tranquillity.
Too great eagerness might be fatal. He is sorry
to be of trouble to Mr. Blimmer; indeed, he shall
hope generously to repay any endeavors on his part
to arrange matters satisfactorily; and he extends
an encouraging and appreciative look over the

numerous diagrams of Blimmersville, which decorate
the office-walls. His son has expressed himself
charmed with the locality; they hope to ride over
some pleasant day; perhaps Mr. Blimmer could do
them the favor to accompany them. He will call
in the afternoon, “at three.”

“At three,” says Mr. Blimmer.

And they interchanged a very warm-sounding
“Good-morning.”

There are a great many “good-mornings” spoken
which are only a mild form of swearing. I hope it
was not so in this instance.

Mr. Blimmer, the door being closed with a soft
slam, threw himself into a posture of repose, and
reflected rapidly. Quid is, of course, anxious (he
thinks) to become possessed of such a document
as lies in his hands; he would naturally (he reflects)
bid high for it. He would probably destroy it—
naturally enough. But perhaps, after all, Quid's
claims are good for nothing. What then? Phœbe
Fudge and the widow Fleming are joint heirs. Old
Solomon, then, might be disturbed by the production
of such a document. A man in his position
(Mr. Blimmer does not know of the sight-drafts and
Wash. Fudge's duel) would hardly bid for accommodation.
Mr. Quid seems his man. Kitty has lost his
sympathy; indeed, the whole Fudge family are confounded

in the tumult of his aggrieved feelings—
naturally enough.

Following upon this stage of reflection, there
comes to Mr. Blimmer a period of action. He
locks the door, the hour for Jerry's return not being
up; draws the curtains—dusky moreen; he draws
out from his safe Mr. Boger's Will, and on a clean
sheet of foolscap, like as possible to the original,
commences a copy; writing in backhand, but rapidly.
He hesitates about signing the names: one naturally
looks for a signature to such an instrument in
a distinct hand; besides which, it is awkward work
signing names for other people, whether at the foot
of notes; or, for that matter, upon the backs.

The boy would do the names better: but the boy
must not suspect. Trust Blimmer for that; and
the Blimmersville proprietor thereupon makes an
expressive gesture with his hand, significant of a
high estimation of his own shrewdness, but yet not
of a kind to be looked for in the proprietor of a
village.

Presently, the corner-boy, Jerry, comes in. He is
a short-haired, half-Irish boy; one of that numerous
race which is growing up in our city between lawyers'
offices, the haunts of washer-women, and corner
publication shops; a race which, as it developes
in knowledge of the world, and in familiarity with

the habits and principles of the bar, will furnish
eloquent speakers to the caucuses of the Bowery,
and a grand intonation to the plaudits in Tammany
Hall. And it is not unlikely that some among
them will thereafter obtain a contract for paving a
street, or for digging a sluice-way, which will make
them nabobs. Future years shall behold them in
brown-stone houses upon (who knows?) Madison or
Union Square, with native wives in claret carriages,
and with tall sons who shall wear tight plaid
pantaloons, and glorify themselves in the eyes of
all bar-keepers and chamber-maids, by smoking three-cornered
cigars on the steps of the New York Hotel.

Now, however, the ancestor of such degenerate
offspring is Irish Jerry, serving for six shillings a
week, the redoubtable Blimmer.

“Jerry!” says Blimmer.

“Sir!” says Jerry.

“How comes on your writing, Jerry?”

“Pr-retty fair, sir.”

“Let me see,” says Blimmer.

And the crop-haired boy brings forward some
papers which he has been transcribing.

“More attention to your caps, Jerry; not plain
enough. Bring a clean sheet; sit here; now then,
try an A.

“Pretty good. Your Ts are bad; try a T.

“Not so crooked a top, Jerry;” and Blimmer
sets him a sample; a very Truman-like sample.

“Try a B now, my boy.”

And the devoted Blimmer continues instruction,
until Jerry has nearly filled a sheet with stark-mad
capitals; principally confined, however, to Bs and
Ts, and such like difficult letters.

“Try a name now, my boy; let me see—write
Boggs!”

And after this follows Trenton, and various practice,
until the sheet is full. But a boy who improves
so fast shall have paper enough, says Blimmer;
wherewith he lays before him a sheet on which he
has himself been scribbling.

“Beat my hand, if you can, boy,” says Blimmer,
enthusiastically; “write Harry Flint here in the
corner.”

Blimmer takes up the sheet and seems to admire
it contemplatively.

“Did you ever write back-hand, my boy?”

“Don't know it, sir,” says Jerry.

“Ha! ha! why, don't know it?” says Blimmer,
intensely amused; “why, this is back-hand,” showing
a bit of his own; “and this,” showing an old
letter; “and this awkward-looking thing,” and
Blimmer slips under his eye the actual signature of
old Bodgers, appended to the will.

“You could beat that, to be sure, Jerry. Let
us see.”

And Jerry dashes it down in the corner of Mr.
Blimmer's copy; altogether unconscious what may
hang on that fragment of blurred writing.

And after this, Blimmer rewards Jerry with a
new and clean sheet, and, directing the writing of
Blimmer and Blimmersville, and George Washington,
and General Jackson, appears to grow less and
less interested in his scholar, and finally gives him
up to a chance column in the Directory.

Mr. Blimmer slips the copy in a drawer until the
time for Jerry's dinner arrives. Then, by himself,
the careful gentleman folds and dries the copy,
thrusting it a time or two in the ashes, to give the
edges a worn look.

Jerry wonders, over his boiled beef and cabbage,
what the old man can be so “soft” upon him for;
and why he wants just now such a stock of capitals,
and such a writing of out-of-the-way names.

The village-proprietor, meantime, waiting the
arrival of Mr. Quid, indulges in various reflections.

He is not altogether a bad man; the last man in
the world, as he assures himself, to forge a will,
literally. But he wishes to watch matters, somewhat;
he has availed himself of an innocent business-disguise
for this end. He doesn't feel at liberty

to trust the genuine document in the hands of Mr.
Quid. There might be a risk in it. Mr. Quid
might venture to destroy it. In such event, the old
will stands good. And should he publish it (hardly
to be supposed), then the deception is no way harmful.
At any rate, he satisfies himself (as we are all
apt enough to do), with his own action, and receives
Mr. Quid in a very cordial manner.

Mr. Quid is, upon this visit, accompanied by
Quid junior, whom he introduces to Mr. Blimmer
as his son, and the undoubted heir, through right of
his mother, to the Bodgers estate.

Mr. Blimmer is delighted to make his acquaintance,
and finds him a chair with a whole back.

Mr. Quid hopes that Mr. Blimmer has been successful
in his search.

“Perfectly;” but he fears, on looking over the
memorandum, that it will not be altogether agreeable
to Mr. Quid. On examination, he finds that
the memorandum bears the form of a will, by which
the deceased bequeathed his property, in a very
extraordinary manner (saving a few bequests), to
Miss Kitty Fleming.

Mr. Quid manifests less embarrassment than
Blimmer would have imagined; and observes, in
a chirrupy manner, that the will is probably “witnessed
and signed?”

Mr. Blimmer says, “Certainly.”

Mr. Quid is evidently affected; so is Adolphus.

“Is Mr. Blimmer sure?” says the junior.

“Sure.”

Mr. Quid senior begs, thereupon, to ask, as a
mere matter of curiosity, if Mr. Blimmer has
informed the Fleming family, or, indeed, any party,
of the existence of this will.

Mr. Blimmer apologizes, in very warm terms, for
his oversight in not having yet done so; he anticipates
great pleasure in bringing to the knowledge
of —

Mr. Quid takes Mr. Blimmer's hand in a warm
manner; he begs that he would exercise discretion;
“a discretion which, under the circumstances, might
ensure to Mr. Blimmer immense advantage.”

Mr. Blimmer seems to reciprocate the sentiment
silently.

Mr. Quid would, of course, be glad to see the
document in which he has so near a concern; so
would his son.

“I dare say,” says Mr. Blimmer; “but, gentlemen,
would it not be proper to lodge this paper at
once in the hands of the surrogate, or at least of
some magistrate, in order to avoid unpleasant suspicions?
You perceive, I dare say, gentlemen, how
the matter stands?”

Young Quid has turned an admiring and very
eager look upon the Blimmersville lots. Mr. Quid,
senior, looks relenting and generous. Blimmer
resolutely slips a thumb in the button-hole of Quid's
coat, and draws him into a corner. They talk in
whispers. Mr. Blimmer intimates that the making
of Quid's fortune is in his hands. Mr. Quid admits
that he is exceedingly desirous of gaining possession
of a document of so much importance.

Mr. Blimmer intimates that he has had some
difficulty in the matter; it was an important trust;
he should hesitate to relinquish it without receiving
some guarantee in writing, or perhaps—money; that
—in short, Mr. Quid must be fully aware of the
state of the case.

Mr. Quid seemed to be. They appeared, indeed,
to agree. What the terms of the bargain were, by
which poor Kitty's inheritance was to be placed in
the hands of the Quids, I cannot say. Perhaps it
will appear as the story ripens into fulfilment;
perhaps not. There hardly seems a chance that
between these two business-men, any part of the
old uncle's liberality will come near to Kitty Fleming.
The weak ones of the world are every day
yielding to the strong; it is so in Lombard Italy;
and it is so in Wall street.

The reader has, without doubt, anticipated the

delivery of the copy of Truman Bodgers' will into
the hands of Mr. Quid; which would leave chances
still pending between the insatiate lover, Mr. Blimmer,
and the defenceless girl, my cousin Kitty. The
reader, however, is for once mistaken; his novel-reading
experience is at fault. Mr. Blimmer did
not consign away from his keeping the copy, but,
by a stupid oversight, the veritable document!

Now, indeed, the reader of sensibility may shed
tears.

Mr. Blimmer did not discover his mistake until
the Quids, father and son, in happy humor, had
bidden him a cordial good-evening. I shall not
attempt to describe the emotions of Mr. Blimmer
on discovering upon his table the rapid copy which
he had himself executed in a masterly manner, and
the somewhat staggering signatures of his accomplished
clerk.

Jerry went home that night with a bump upon
his head, which, as it resulted, in his view, from a
rap wholly undeserved, provoked in him a very
bitter train of thoughtfulness. An old proverb
says, “It is best to have the good-will, even of
a dog.”

It was observed, by those curious in the history
of Blimmersville lots (who were not numerous) that
within a short time after the interview related, a

large number of choice sites in the proposed village
passed into the proprietorship of Adolphus Quid,
junior. I regret to be compelled to add, that the
site for the proposed church was among these. It
is to be feared, therefore, that the proposed village
will remain for a still longer, and indeed indefinite
period, without church-privileges.

Bridget Fudge, I should have remarked, has
indignantly withdrawn her promise to embroider a
cross for the cover of the proposed reading-desk of
the church to be erected in Blimmersville.

I fear Jemima has been doing injustice to Blimmer.