University of Virginia Library

38. XXXVIII.
An Irish Friend Appears.

MR. BIVINS was sitting over his office-stove,
reflecting on the untoward course of events—
wondering what disposition Mr. Quid would make of
his Newtown estates—wondering if the will could
not, after all, be established, in so far as related to
personal property—when he was startled by a smart
little rap at the door; and who should appear, in
answer to the summons to enter, but our short-haired
friend, Mr. Blimmer's Irish boy!

“'Squire Bivins, b'lieve, sir?” said Jerry, very
promptly.

“Yes, my name is Bivins,” said the Squire;
“what do you want, my lad?”

“I've come about that will, sir,” (very promptly).

“About what will, my boy?”

“Bodgers versus Quid,” said the boy.

“Oh! ho!” said Bivins, growing somewhat interested;
“and what do you know about it?”

“Pretty considerable,” said Jerry.

“Well, my lad, let's hear.”

The boy, with his characteristic promptitude, put
his thumb to his nose, and gave his fingers a dexterous
twirl: “There's them that would pay me to
hold my tongue,” said he.

“Oh! ho! and so you want me to pay you to
talk;” and the Squire, after reflection, slipped a
half dollar before the boy.

“It's not enough,” said Jerry; “it's cost a dollar
coming out here to Newtown, and if I sponge, I
s'pose I lose my place, which's as good as three dollars
to me.”

The Squire was not a man to spend money recklessly,
especially in so awkward a case as this had
proved.

“You can tramp, my lad,” said he.

“Very good, sir,” said Jerry, “but if you wants
to hear o' Blimmer's boy, I'll be about the tavern-stable
till four o'clock.”

The name of Blimmer arrested the Squire's attention.

“What's the will,” said he, “you can tell me
about, my lad?”

“Bodgers' will,” said Jerry.

“What makes you think it's the Bodgers'
will?”

The boy made his previous expressive sign, followed
by rapid, lawyer-like queries of this sort:
“Didn't the old hos come near burning on the
Eclipse?—and wasn't old Bodgers abroad?—and
didn't old Bodgers say to the Governor—says he
—? But I s'pose it's no matter; not if you
knows all about it now.”

“I'll tell you what,” said the Squire, now thoroughly
interested, and drawing a ten-dollar note
from his pocket, “if you tell me enough to make
the will good, you shall have this note.”

“Half down?” said the boy.

Mr. Bivins hesitated; but his curiosity got the
better of him, and he yielded to the lad's wish.
“Now, then,” said he, “let's hear what you know
about the will?”

“Well,” said Jerry, coolly putting the five-dollar
note in his waistcoat-pocket, “they've burnt it!”

“Why, you precious scoundrel!” said Bivins,
“don't you know it's all up, then?”

“Not exactly,” said the boy, “for they made a
copy, and I put my fist to it.”

Mr. Bivins took the document from his drawer to
test the boy. “Is this your copy?” said he.

Jerry looked scrutinizingly at the names; shook
his head in a puzzled manner. “No,” said he,
“this is the bony-fidy document; they must have
made a mistake between 'em, and burnt the
copy.”

And thereupon the boy, in reply to the queries of
the Squire, gave a detailed statement—how he had
done special copying on one occasion for Mr. Blimmer,
particularly a great many proper names and
such like, and ended with making a “fac-smile” of
the name belonging to the will; how, when the
gentleman came again, who took the copy, he rested
himself a bit outside the office-door, occasionally
looking through the key-hole; and how he saw the
will, then and there, burnt up, as he supposed, and
heard the whole story about it, and saw the cash
paid over to Blimmer; and how he heard them talk
of “fighting shy” of Squire Bivins, who lived in
Newtown; and how he himself, for a long time,
wasn't able to find out where Newtown was, not
having discovered that name, nor Mr. Bivins's, in
the “Drectry;” and how he thought he might make
an honest penny by coming out to tell just how matters

stood, when they might do as they liked, and
settle it all among 'em.

The Squire took careful notes of all this; he
advises the boy to “keep on hand” for the other
five, and to have a sharp watch on Blimmer.

It is needless to say that this communication
gives a new aspect to the state of affairs. Heretofore
Mr. Quid has seemed to wear a commendable
generosity throughout the proceedings; his fraud
in the case is a noteworthy fact. His error, in
respect to Mr. Blimmer's copy of the will, explains
in a happy manner to Squire Bivins his air of benevolence.

The details prove equally satisfactory to Mrs.
Fleming, to whose cottage the Squire now pays
frequent visits.

Having placed Irish Jerry in a secure situation,
out of the reach of Mr. Blimmer, Squire Bivins
opens a cautious series of negotiations with that
individual; and by an amicable arrangement, to the
effect that the dues upon the Blimmersville lots,
now standing in the name of the Quids, should be
paid up, out of the Bodgers property, the friendly
interference of the proprietor of Blimmersville is
secured. Indeed that talkative gentleman professes
to be greatly rejoiced at the accident which has
brought to light the fraud of the Quids, and makes

every atonement in his power for his connivance
therein. He vows that the Blimmersville property
has not prospered since the purchase of the Quids.
He expresses a determination to restore the church-lot
to its original destination; and is every day on
the lookout for an enterprising clergyman to build
up a parish in that village.

The testimony of Mr. Blimmer to the receipt of
the will from the hands of Mr. Bodgers himself—
who delivered it to him under solemn mention of the
fact that it contained his last will and testament—
was an important fact; so important, indeed, that
an eminent lawyer of the city declared the Fleming
interest to be of the safest possible character, and
volunteered services for the plaintiff, with fees contingent
upon the success of their application.

Harry Flint, consulted on occasions by the Squire,
gives his advice freely, and engages to do all in his
power towards pushing the affair to a successful
issue. But yet there is not much warmth in his
action; his indifference to the Flemings appears
almost to be growing into pique. Where there is
dignity on one side and distance on the other, it is
apt to grow to this; more especially if there be
some remnant of early warm feeling glowing under
the dignity and the distance.

Besides this, Harry's duties and affections seem

now all centered around the bed of his suffering
Bessie. A sister's arm could not be kinder or more
gentle than his. A sister's step could not be lighter,
when the sick one sleeps.

The aunt is watchful as a mother; and Kitty
will find her way to the sick chamber at times, but
oftenest when she knows that Harry is away, and
they will not meet. Then she lingers for hours
together by the bed-side.

Sometimes Harry and Bessie talked of Kitty,
whom the little girl loved almost as fondly as she
loved her brother, and was never tired of saying
how much she loved her, and how badly she thought
of that villain, Mr. Quid.

“She is a very nice person,” Harry was used to
say, only to humor Bessie.

“Nice! Harry! oh! she is perfect; you ought
to know her better, Harry.”

“Why so, Bessie?” for the topic, after all, does
not seem ungrateful.

“Because—because, Harry, and yet,” said Bessie,
puzzled, “perhaps it's as well not.”

What can the little girl mean? “Did you ever
think, Bessie,” says Harry, puzzled in his turn,
“that I liked her very much?”

“Sometimes,” said Bessie.

“And you thought it foolish?”

“Not foolish.”

“Useless, then.”

“Perhaps so,” says Bessie, reluctantly.

“Why?” said Harry, piqued, perhaps.

“From what she said to me, Harry,”

“When, Bessie?” and Harry seems to be eager
in questioning.

“When I asked her once.”

“What did you ask her, Bessie?” (his eagerness
appears to increase).

“Whether,” said Bessie, “she loved my brother
Harry?”

“What did she say, Bessie?” Harry's tone is
remarkably quick.

“She was angry, Harry, and turned very—very
red, and asked why I talked so strangely, and came
near crying, and begged me never to talk so
again.”

If I had been in Mr. Harry's place, I think I
should have felt flattered by such a story. Lovers
they say are blind; but a sensible fellow like Harry,
perfectly indifferent to sentiment, and to young
ladies generally, ought certainly to have shown
more legal shrewdness, and not gone on harping in
his thought upon the old bugbear of Adolphus
Quid, and wondering how Kitty could ever have
loved him so much, and feeling very sure in his

own mind that, having loved him so much, she
could never love anybody else—most of all, himself—so
unlike as he was to that gay gentleman!

In short, he made himself very killingly distant to
Kitty, as a revenge upon her, and gave himself the
air of a man who thought very little about her, and
really thought very little of anybody else, except
poor Bessie, whose end is near!