University of Virginia Library

35. XXXV.
Quid, Blimmer, and Bivins.

MR. QUID took a considerable sum of ready
money with him, when he made his call upon
Mr. Blimmer. Irish Jerry, still in the Blimmersville
employ, had an indistinct recollection of the
gentleman. By dint of a nervous scratch over his
left ear, the lad called up quite a train of associations
in connection with that elegant gentleman.
He remembered a long walk to Fulton Ferry, a
sort of holiday for him; he remembered a considerable
practice in capitals, and writing generally,

afterwards; he remembered still more clearly a
severe thump upon his head, given by Mr. Blimmer,
very gratuitously (as Jerry thought), later in the
day.

What made the association still more lively, was
the fact that Mr. Blimmer, on the present occasion,
made a Tom-foolery errand, by which Jerry might
take himself off. The lad did, indeed, clatter down
the stairs with commendable energy; but presently
returned in a cautious manner and took up position
on the outside of the Blimmersville office door.
There was not much passing upon the Blimmersville
stairs; and Jerry was able to gratify a very active
if not laudable curiosity.

The interview opened with a little benevolent
crimination on the part of Mr. Quid, for the double
play of Mr. Blimmer. The accused gentleman
defended himself with a great deal of amiability,
and congratulated Mr. Quid upon the improved
aspect of affairs, now that the Countess had retired.

Mr. Quid expressed himself gratefully, and hinted
that there was now only one obstacle to the peaceable
and judicious arrangement of the whole matter.
He hinted that Mr. Blimmer knew very well
what that obstacle was.

Mr. Blimmer remarked in a tone of half-inquiry
“that he probably referred to the will which he

had the honor of receiving from the hands of
Mr. Bodgers, shortly before that gentleman's death.”

Mr. Quid said he did so; and regretted that he
was only in possession of a copy of that instrument.
He thought he could make it worth the while of
Mr. Blimmer to transfer to him, as a person related
to the deceased, the copy still in his possession.
And Mr. Quid, by an inadvertent kind of gesture,
passed his hands into his coat-pocket, drawing from
thence a very plumply-filled wallet.

Mr. Blimmer loved the sight of bank-notes, both
as proprietor of Blimmersville, and as an individual.
He did not, as the reader will very well understand,
place any extraordinary value upon the paper in his
possession. Of his own handwriting, and that of
Jerry, he had frequent specimens in circular letters
and other documents. He did not consider, therefore,
the moneyed propositions of his visitor as
wholly inadmissible.

Mr. Quid proceeded like a man of business;
he counted out a large sum—larger than had fallen
under the eye of the Blimmersville proprietor in a
long time. He proposed to hand this sum over to
Mr. Blimmer, without receipt or other writing, provided
he was at once put in possession of the will of
Mr. Bodgers, now in Blimmer's keeping.

Mr. Blimmer spoke pathetically of a trust imposed

on him by an old acquaintance, under so distressing
circumstances as attended the burning of the
Eclipse; he was also aware, however, of the interests
of Mr. Quid, through his late wife, and of the
strong desire which those so near of kin would
naturally feel to possess themselves of little mementoes
of the deceased.

This last view of the case prevailed with him;
and, having received from Mr. Quid the proffered
sum, he transferred, at the same time, to that gentleman
the draft of the will, which has been already
brought to the knowledge of the reader. He furthermore
solemnly declared to Mr. Quid, that he
had put him in possession of all the documents
of every kind, which had been handed him by the
deceased Mr. Bodgers.

Mr. Quid glanced his eye over the instrument, and
observed with special gratification the quaint and
highly interesting character of the signature. It
certainly differed very much from that affixed to the
paper already in his possession.

Mr. Quid sometimes smoked a mild Havana; he
drew one from his pocket. Would Mr. Blimmer
draw a match for him?

Mr. Blimmer drew a match.

Mr. Quid dexterously lighted—not the segar—
but the corner of the will. Mr. Blimmer feigned a

strong demurral. But the paper burned easily, and
presently was thrown, a mere cinder, upon the ashes
of the grate.

“You will perceive,” said Mr. Quid, in an amiable
tone, “that I have made you a party to
this little transaction for the sake of fuller security.
You drew the match, I lighted the paper. I think
that is the state of the case?”

Mr. Blimmer smiled awkwardly, and said he
believed it was. Mr. Quid offered him thereupon a
segar, and they smoked together in a familiar manner.
Some remarks were passed between them in
respect to Mr. Bivins, of Newtown. Both seemed to
agree that he was a man they should be very cautious
of. Indeed, he seemed the only individual whose
pertinacity was to be feared. Mr. Quid expressed
the belief that he held the means of thoroughly
quieting the investigations of that gentleman.

Mr. Blimmer hoped he did.

When Jerry returned from his errand, a half hour
after this, he was thoroughly blown. Mr. Blimmer
scolded him for having been gone a very long time.
Jerry said, and said truly, that he never ran faster
in his life. The fact was, he set off late.

Mr. Quid walked home, flourishing daintily his
gold-headed cane. He talked in a sportive humor to
himself, and remarked jocularly to Mr. Quid, “that

the affair had rather a cheery look. As for Bivins,”
said he, “he thinks I am interested in the will.
Ha! ha! so I am; so I am, Mr. Bivins. Should
be happy to find the will, Mr. Bivins—very happy.
Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum. Ha! ha! Mr. Bivins!”

In his magnanimity he thinks he can well afford
to put the copy in the hands of that gentleman. It
will look generous; it will divert suspicion; it will
show a tender interest in the Flemings that will
serve to counterbalance any wayward tendencies,
just now, of Adolphus.

Indeed, that very afternoon Mr. Quid drove out
Newtown. He visited the office of Mr. Bivins, on
the meeting-house corner, and quite cheered the
Squire with his gaiety of spirits. He alluded to
the conversation on a previous visit. He wished
to give assurance to Mr. Bivins that he had spoken
in good faith. The fact of being relieved of so
impertinent an adversary as the foreign lady, who
called herself the Countess de Guerlin, had in no
way lessened his interest in the Fleming family.
His ideas of strict justice remained the same. He
might say, without self-flattery, that they would
always remain the same.

Squire Bivins took the occasion to supply himself
with a fresh quid, and to remark that “he had
no doubt of it.”

Mr. Quid continued to say that he had pushed
his inquiries with zeal, and that he had the happiness
now of informing Mr. Bivins that he had
come into possession of a document which appeared
to be genuine, and which corresponded accurately
with the description of Mr. Bivins.

It is needless to say that the Squire was somewhat
taken “aback.” Since the flight of the Guerlin
he had observed, or rather Mehitabel had
observed, that the visits of Adolphus to Newtown
had become less frequent. He argued from this
that the young gentleman and father were about to
abandon the attempt to secure the estate through
marriage; and he was plotting within himself how
he might, in the safest manner, cause a summons to
be issued to Mr. Quid to produce the will, which he
believed to be in his possession, before some court
of probate. That Mr. Quid should make a voluntary
proffer of that instrument, was something the
Squire did not wholly understand.

Yet the fact was undoubted; Mr. Quid said he
should be most happy to lay the document before
Mr. Bivins; and alluded to a sentiment previously
expressed, in a foreign tongue, indeed; but he
believed Mr. Bivins was aware of its import—to
wit: Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum.

Mr. Bivins took the will, and glanced it over.

“There was no doubt it was his own hand-writing.”

Mr. Quid turned pale, but recovered in a moment.
Blimmer must have had a good copyist.

“Aye,” said Bivins, running his eye down to the
foot; “and there's Harry's signature.”

Mr. Quid turned pale again.

“But,” said Bivins, a little disconcerted it
seemed, “it isn't worth a rush!”

“No?” said Quid, with an involuntary smile
playing on his lip.

“Not a rush!” said Bivins, more emphatically
still.

“How so?” said Mr. Quid, nervously.

“The law,” said Bivins, pronouncing that monosyllable
in a tone calculated to produce great awe,
“the law requires two witnesses, at least, in the
execution of all such instruments.”

“Always?” said Quid, disposed half to regret the
needless sacrifice of the morning.

“There may be cases,” said Mr. Bivins, speaking
solemnly, and with an air of great authority,
“where a will with but a single witness, or, indeed,
no witness at all, other than oral testimony, might
perhaps be good; as in the case of a soldier dying
on the field of battle, or a mariner at sea,
or”—

“And how about the signature?” said Quid,
growing excessively nervous; “the signature of Mr.
Bodgers?”

Mr. Bivins put on his spectacles, which he had
removed in the heat of his legal expressions, and
ran his eye over the names at the foot.

“Truman Bodgers,” said he, reading the name
attentively; “it doesn't look quite right; there's
something wanting, to be sure,” said he, growing
more decided in his belief; and he held it at arm's
length from him. “I can't believe it's altogether
his,” said he. And his eye ran from the name of
Bodgers to the name of Flint, and he stroked his
wig in a reflective manner, and laid the paper upon
his knee, and removing his spectacles, placed them
upon it, and eyeing keenly Mr. Quid, said: “It's
my opinion, sir, that this paper is a forgery!”

“Bless me!” said Mr. Quid, affecting great concern,
“you don't say so! And who, pray, was the
forger?”

“A man I never would have suspected,” said
Bivins, feelingly. “Observe, Mr. Quid, we are
talking in confidence.”

Mr. Quid assented.

“It is my opinion,” said he, that this paper has
been signed and witnessed by the same individual;
and that individual is Harry Flint!”

Mr. Quid shows a surprise, which, under the circumstances
is very natural.

“Mr. Flint,” said Bivins, continuing his reflections,
“was a young man attached to my office; a
well-to-do young man; but he was a little tender,
as my daughter Mehitabel has told me—for I am a
poor judge in those matters—towards Miss Kitty
Fleming, who is, you perceive, the legatee. Now
Mr. Bodgers had undoubtedly drawn up this instrument
in her favor, but never, to my knowledge, did
he execute it. The signature has certainly not got
the Squire's usual flourish. Harry Flint, being a
clerk of mine, may very naturally have had the
handling of this paper among others of the Squire's
which passed back and forth from the office. And
as the Squire slipped off without signing it, he may,
you understand, have put in the name with his own
to make the paper good. As he was in love with
Miss Kitty, it would have been natural enough, you
know, to wish to put her into possession of the
Squire's property.”

“To be sure,” said Quid. “But why don't
Harry Flint appear?”

“There's just the point,” said Bivins; “and it
counts more strongly against him than all the rest.
On a sudden he slips off to California. Why did he
go? My daughter Mehitabel, who is an observing

woman, has, I think, touched the matter in the
right place. She says `Kitty rejected him!'”

It seemed rather a strong case against poor
Harry; but the Squire had forgotten, what we
very well know, that Harry Flint had taken his
departure from Newtown several days previous to
the loss of Mr. Bodgers.

Mr. Quid, in an equable mood of mind, although
perhaps not entirely so self-possessed as before his
visit, bade Mr. Bivins good day, leaving with him
the document which had suggested such a novel
train of reflections to the Squire, and of which Mr.
Quid had very little fear: first, on the ground that
the signature of Mr. Bodgers lacked its usual
flourish (for which he thought capital reason might
be found in the unpractised hand of Mr. Blimmer's
copyist), and next, because it lacked the requisite
number of witnesses to be made an effective instrument.

If there was a forgery in the case, the matter was
even better than he hoped. He was perfectly
satisfied in his own mind that Mr. Bivins, with all
his sharpness, was charging upon Mr. Harry Flint
an impropriety which might be more safely laid at
the office door of his respectable friend, Mr. Blimmer.
Mr. Flint was, however, absent, and the
charge being communicated in confidence, and the

will void on other grounds, he thought Mr. Flint
might very properly wear the weight of the Squire's
amiable suspicions without any interference on his
part.

Mr. Quid, I may remark again, went home in
excellent good-humor. He thought well of his
sagacity; he thought well of his apparent generosity;
he thought well of Adolphus Quid; and he
thought even better of Mr. Quid, senior.

It would be strange if Mr. Bivins did not speak
of his extraordinary suspicion in his family circle; of
course it would. And it would be stranger still if
Miss Bivins did not repeat the suspicion, with some
few additions of her own, in a confidential manner.
In this way, it came about that half the old women
of Newtown understood, on the “best authority,”
that Harry Flint, who had gone away in such
haste, had proved a forger “for a vast amount.”
And it came to Kitty's ears, among the rest; who
was greatly shocked, but did not trust it at all.

And it found its way after a time to the home of
the old aunt. (Mehitabel Bivins said everywhere she
feared it might.) She, good woman, fearfully disturbed,
wrote off a letter full of trouble about the
lying scandal of the town, and urged Harry to come
back, if it were only for a short visit, to make his
name good again, and to cheer up little Bessie, who

was grown thin and ailing—all the worse for the
Christian lecture that Mehitabel Bivins had read to
her, with the other girls, in the Sunday-class, about
the awful sin of forgery, which she feared an old
townsman (Bessie knew who she meant) had been
guilty of.

Miss Mehitabel was immensely gratified in being
able to add yet another topic to her usual range of
gossip. Adolphus Quid came more rarely to Newtown.
Indeed he came now very rarely. Mehitabel
wondered (with the neighbors) if he had jilted
poor Kitty? She pitied her, indeed she did. And
what is more, she told everybody in the village,
with that sharp tongue of hers, how much she pitied
her. She knew from the beginning that young
Quid was not in earnest. She hoped, indeed she
did, that matters were no worse than they seemed!

And Kitty had need of pity, both earnest and
kind. Not that her heart was broken by any negligence
in attention of that out-sided gentleman,
Adolphe; I think, indeed, that least of all in the
old Bodgers house she regretted the growing absence
of his gay carriage at the gate.

And yet she had yielded measurably to her
mother's whim; the hearts of girlhood are very
pliable. Often-times she had set up before her—
Duty (for obedience to her mother in all things

seemed duty), and tried to transfigure it into Love.
And even though she had not yet thoroughly succeeded,
her very struggle towards the fond old
mother's wish, quickened her sensibilities and made
her keenly jealous of a slight.

Therefore, when the long-continued visits and the
frequent offerings became rare and uncertain, Kitty,
from very sympathy, wore half the pain which
clouded her mother's face. For until then, with a
simplicity which interpreted language at its full
meaning, she had never once imagined that Adolphe
had played false, or pretended to greater feeling
than belonged to him. Never once, under the
guidance of the old mother's observation, had she
questioned the earnestness of his feeling; her only
hesitancy lay in doubt as to her own. To change
the inquiry now was very, very humiliating.

But there was not long occasion for any question
of this sort. Mehitabel sharpened her tongue more
and more upon poor Kitty's forsaken condition.
Adolphe's visits grew more and more rare. Finally,
there came one day a pitiful letter from him, saying
“how sincerely he had been attached to her, and
how much he regretted that his father's wish forbade
further intimacy with one whose memory he
should always cherish very affectionately.”

Kitty had not one tear for this letter, though she

felt very bitterly. With a woman's instinct, she
looked through the words to the very marrow of his
intent, and the falsity of months past flashed on her
in a moment. It is a bitter thing when a guileless
woman first learns to regard any manly character—
no matter where she finds it—with contempt. It
weakens that better estimate of humanity which
gives sunshine to life. It breaks down womanly
faith, where womanly faith ought to be strong.

I said Kitty had no tears to shed over the letter;
certainly not in the reading of it—nor for hours
after. But at night, by herself, when she recalled
her mother's bitter mortification and her own delusion
(to be guarded against ever after through the
whole course of her life by a watchful and constant
suspicion), she grew troubled, and shed tears; not
girlish tears, but those of a woman.

I think the little scholars of her next day's school
remarked something more of dignity in her manner
than they had seen before; they thought at first
she would have been severe. But, if anything, she
was more kind than ever.