The Key Note

CHAPTER XVII

THE HEIR

Luther Wrenn gave himself the luxury of calling at the Copley-Plaza the next morning, perhaps as a bracer for his afternoon appointment. When he sent up his name, he received a summons to come to a room on the floor above Diana's.

Entering, he found the group he had left yesterday, minus Mrs. Wilbur, chatting and laughing before a boy's wardrobe spread out on the bed. As he shook hands with the boy himself, the lawyer looked him over with satisfaction. From the barber to the haberdasher, the lad had evidently been served well; and though pale and thin, Herbert Loring, Second, stood there a credit to his name already, and full of promise for the future. A wardrobe trunk in steamer size stood at one side of the room and a fine suitcase beside it.

"Is everything all right, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn, with a hand on the boy's shoulder and his eyes wandering over the variety of apparel laid out on the bed. "Nothing seems to be missing."

"I have – I have blue pyjamas," said the boy.

"And did they sleep all right, eh?"

"They did not," said Philip. "I had the other room opening off Bert's bath and I prowled once in a while to see how the land lay, and the electric light was evidently too easy. He was always examining his box."

"What box is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn.

The boy was keeping lifted eyes on him, not quite sure whether this dispenser of gifts was going to be displeased at the burning of midnight electricity. At the question he hurried to a table and brought the new sketching materials which had interfered with his dreams.

Mr. Wrenn gave the boy's shoulder a little shake and laughed. "They won't run away in the night," he said. "Better sleep and keep your eyes bright. When do you plan to return to the island, Mrs. Lowell?"

She was sitting with Diana by the bed, where they were sewing markers on Bert's new possessions. "If your afternoon interview proves satisfactory, and you can arrange that we shall not be molested, I think we might go to-morrow," she replied.

"Want to go back to the island, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn. The appealing eyes, so like Helen Loring's, were winning him more and more with their trustfulness.

"I – I don't care where we go if he – if nobody takes me away from – from Mrs. Lowell."

"You dear youngster," said that lady, her swift needle stitching busily.

"Well, it is my intention that nobody shall, for the present. Of course, when these charming ladies hamper themselves with husbands, it brings in an element of uncertainty. What sort of a man is Monroe Lowell, now? I suppose his wife is entirely impartial."

Mrs. Lowell laughed. "The finest ever," she said, "but I see signs of impatience beginning to show in his letters. So I hope he will soon join us. Probably I know what you are thinking of, Mr. Wrenn, but let us not cross any bridges until we come to them. The right way is sure to open."

The lawyer nodded. "I will let you have a bulletin as soon as the final farewells are said this afternoon. I hope to secure the island from further intrusion."

Diana looked up from her work. "Would it not be well to offer him money not to return?"

Philip, who was engaged in snipping the markers apart, spoke: "If he comes, I can take the bone of contention to my place until the hurricane is passed."

"I am quite certain he will not go," said Mrs. Lowell quietly.

"Why is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn. "I must confess to some qualms myself."

"Because it is not right for him to go," said Mrs. Lowell.

"My dear young lady," the lawyer smiled, "if that is the only ground for your belief, my limited observation of the gentleman suggests that he never has done anything right in his life unless by accident. But no money, Miss Diana. Start that once with that individual and you will be purchasing something from him at intervals the rest of his life. I must be off. Good-bye, Herbert."

The boy started. He had been hanging over his treasures and handling them, oblivious to everything around him. This gentleman, who knew his mother and had showered upon him so many benefits, was looking at him now with kind, serious eyes, and Bert became mindful of a little talk Mrs. Lowell had had with him this morning.

He walked up to the lawyer and held out his slender hand. "I thank you – sir," he said.

"Good boy. I will see you again before you leave," and, bowing to the others, Mr. Wrenn went out, Philip accompanying him to the elevator.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrison, for your good offices," he said as they shook hands.

"Never had so much fun in my life," said Philip. "Made me wish I had half a dozen of my own and the coin to treat them like that."

The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon him and smiled. "Are events shaping themselves toward that end? That extremely charming young woman who has been making you the slave of the lamp is enough to turn any man's head."

Philip flushed. "Any man's head would be turned," he responded quickly, "if he thought of her as approachable. No, some common mortal for me some day, I hope, but she's a goddess, you know."

The young fellow smiled and the lawyer still regarded him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Never let anything like money rob you," he said slowly and with emphasis. "Goddesses have been known to stoop to mortals before this."

"I think her parents would see to that," responded Philip, laughing.

The elevator came, and with one more nod of farewell the lawyer disappeared.

"Fierce job he's got before him," muttered Philip as he returned to the dry goods, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on his new friend's surpassingly ignorant suggestions.

Promptly at the appointed time Nicholas Gayne presented himself at the lawyer's office and was admitted to the sanctum. His air of assurance almost reached the swaggering stage, and his "How are you?" breathed a suggestion of a fortifying beverage. Without waiting for permission, he fell into the chair near the desk.

"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked triumphantly.

"Yes, I am satisfied that the boy is my old friend's grandson."

"I knew you would be. Now, how soon do you think you can fix it up?"

"Fix what up?"

"The inheritance."

"I told you the boy was not mentioned in the will."

"I know that, but what's the law for if it can't get justice done?" came the impatient question, and Gayne's chin shot out belligerently.

"It can and will get justice done," said Luther Wrenn slowly, "but it will take time."

"Oh, of course, I know it will, but you can advance money on a sure thing, and I'll make it worth your while as soon as the cash is in my hands."

"In yours?" The lawyer tapped his desk with a paper-cutter.

"Yes. I told you the boy's delicate. He needs care."

"I'm sure he does. It may take a year to straighten out the matter of the will."

"It don't need to," said Gayne angrily. "I've had the expense of Bert for five years and I ought to be reimbursed and provided with enough money to care for him right, until he gets all that's coming to him."

Luther Wrenn looked for a silent minute at the dark, impatient face and thick, powerful shoulders and hands, and recalled the boy's panic.

"I have obtained a good deal of information as to the occurrences of the past years as they affect Mr. Loring's grandson," he said quietly, and his visitor scowled at him, startled.

"I'm a poor man," he blustered. "I told you I hadn't been able to care for him right."

"If you would like," went on the lawyer slowly, "to be relieved of the boy, I am willing to take charge of him from now on for his mother's sake."

"For his mother's sake," sneered Gayne. "You know damned well that it's because you know you can get hold of the money that ought to be his."

"You have been drinking, Mr. Gayne, and the reason I don't have you put out of the office is because we shall never meet again, and it is always well to settle matters out of court if possible. I am going to tell you, instead of asking a judge to do so, why I am taking Helen Loring's boy away from you."

"Lambert Gayne's boy and my nephew!" roared Gayne. "Where do you get that stuff? Take him away from me, after all the expense – "

"Be quiet, Mr. Gayne, or I shall have to forego my peaceful plans. I have a man outside prepared to take you; so it would be better for you to listen to me."

Nicholas Gayne looked behind him in angry amazement.

"What have you done for that helpless boy?" went on Wrenn quietly. "Have you endeavored to have him properly taught and cared for? Have you allowed him the happiness, which would have cost you nothing, of exercising the talent inherited from his mother?"

"I'm a poor man," – the declaration came with a loud burst. "He couldn't spend his time like a nabob."

"No. So you took no pains to have him educated. You allowed him to be made to scrub floors and wash windows and do any menial work which a lazy, dissolute woman could put upon him. You allowed a creature like Cora to be his companion, caring less than nothing for the possible degradation of the boy's mind and body."

Nicholas Gayne started up from his chair, purple in the face with surprise and fury.

"All this you did with the one single base intention of so beating down any sign of mental efficiency in your nephew that in time you could get the handling of his heritage."

As the words fell clearly and concisely from the lawyer's lips, Nicholas Gayne's muddled brain worked fast. Where could this devil of a lawyer have learned so much in two days? The boy was at the island. It must be the women. That Mrs. Lowell! But how could she have connected Bert with Herbert Loring in the first place, and how could she, with her slight opportunity, have elicited so much from the dull boy and communicated with Luther Wrenn? Gayne wished his brain were clearer, but, looking at the stony calm of the lawyer's face and the cold accusation in his eyes, he realized that the combination of legal power and money made it very hard in instances like this for a poor man like himself to get his rights.

"Now, I will detain you only a minute longer, Mr. Gayne. Herbert Loring, Second, as he will after this be called, is now at the Copley-Plaza with friends." Gayne stared and seized the back of the chair from which he had risen, apparently for support. "I shall provide for him as I think best. It is too early as yet to tell whether your criminal treatment of the child has worked permanent injury. Time and the tenderest, wisest care will be necessary to establish that, and, meanwhile, you will be left in freedom. We desire to avoid all publicity, and, if you keep out of the way and do not intrude and awaken in the boy brutal and sad associations, we may succeed in restoring him to a normal condition, but, I assure you, if you even show your face near the boy or interfere in any degree, you will be called upon to answer serious charges, and witnesses will be easy to procure."

The purple had faded from Nicholas Gayne's face and it was ashy under the sunburn. He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came. Mr. Wrenn touched a button on his desk and the office door opened. Gayne started and looked toward it.

"I feel that we understand each other perfectly, Mr. Gayne," said the lawyer, pleasantly. "Good-afternoon."

Nicholas Gayne mumbled something and, moving as swiftly as his unsteady knees would permit, he disappeared from that office, fear engulfing all his other emotions. He wondered which of the men in plain clothes, whom he saw moving about outside, was the one who might have been his escort.

Luther Wrenn took up the telephone and called Diana.

"Mr. Wrenn speaking."

An excited voice answered, all serenity thrown to the winds. "Oh, Mr. Wrenn, is it over?"

"Yes, Miss Diana, and very satisfactorily. I'm a little tired and I believe I won't make you another call to-day."

"I'm sure you must be tired," sympathetically.

"I just wanted you and Mrs. Lowell to know that you may plan to take the nine o'clock train for Portland to-morrow morning with as much freedom as if our precious uncle had passed away from the planet."

"Thank you, thank you."

"And, by the way, Miss Diana, you may tell Mr. Barrison, too."

"Oh, of course, I should."

"Do you know, I find him a very engaging young man. Why, why are your cheeks blooming so? Can't one say as much as that for relaxation after a nasty quarter of an hour?"

A soft gurgle of laughter went to the listening lawyer.

"I did not know you ever condescended to such play, Mr. Wrenn."

"Well, don't tell, will you? My best wishes to you all, and especially to Herbert, and tell him I shall come to the island to look him over in a short time."

"Do. Mr. Barrison will take you fishing."

"Is he always successful? Does he know just what bait to use?"

Another soft gurgle. "You don't understand, Mr. Wrenn. He uses too much bait. He catches too many fish. Good-bye. My mother has just come in. She is going with us to Maine." A pause. "She hopes to see you there. Good-bye."

Before the arrival of the Copley-Plaza contingent at the island, Matt Blake received the following letter:

Dear Matt:

You know the business that brought me to Boston. I proved my position all right. The old man's lawyer couldn't deny it, but the boy, not being named in the will, as, of course, I knew he wouldn't be, the lawyer said it would take a long time before he could get anything for Bert, and advised me to put the boy into his hands. So I'm going to let him run matters to suit himself.

I'm asking you if you will be good enough to pack up my stuff at the island and send everything on C.O.D. to the address on the card I enclose. You know what I found at the farm, but I've got to wait till I can get some backing before I can do anything about it. Keep it under your hat, though. You know what I left at the farm, too: out in the kitchen. Take that for your trouble. I don't know what I'm going to do next. What I do know is that a lawyer has no more blood than a turnip, and that a man can go to the expense and trouble of taking care of a boy for five years and then be asked to hand him over to those that know he'll have money, without even a thank you for all he has done. I'm disgusted with the world.

When he read this, Matt Blake looked off thoughtfully, his thin lips twitching.

"I hope Phil Barrison can tell me all that's between those lines," he thought.

CHAPTER XVIII

DIANA'S IDEAL

"Come here, Aunt Priscilla," called Veronica at the top of her lungs. It was a joyous call, and Miss Burridge hurried into the dining-room where, a few minutes before, she had left Veronica sweeping, and found her standing still and confronting a boy who stood, hat in hand, while on the floor beside him reposed a new and handsome suitcase.

"Would you know him, Aunt Priscilla?"

Miss Burridge pulled down her spectacles and gazed at the trim figure with the immaculately brushed and parted hair.

"It ain't Bertie Gayne? Why, it is! Where are the other folks? Somebody has been being awful good to you."

How could it be possible that the boy they sent away a few days ago could be the same one who looked at them now with happy eyes and a faint smile.

"They're coming," he answered. "Mr. Blake brought me up – in his wagon, and the others had to wait – for the car, and they were going to take a drive."

Matt Blake here appeared in the open doorway from the piazza, bearing on his back a shining new trunk.

"Where's this going?" he asked.

"I'll show you," said the boy, and they made a procession up the stairs, Bert leading and the women bringing up the rear, full to the lips of questions ready to pour out upon Matt, who was smiling, eyes twinkling under his burden, at the amazed countenances of Miss Burridge and Veronica.

"Where's your Uncle Nick?" asked Veronica when they reached the bedroom.

"No," said Bert quickly; "no, he isn't coming."

"Isn't?" cried Miss Burridge as Blake set the trunk down. "Matt, has Mr. Gayne come into money?"

"This Mr. Gayne has," returned Blake, grinning and indicating the boy.

"No, my name isn't Gayne any more," said Bert gravely. "I am Herbert Loring, Second."

"That so?" said Matt. "There you have it, ladies. You've read about the Prince and the Pauper, haven't you? You sent away the pauper and got back the prince."

"Yes," said the boy; "my grandfather gave me all these things because he didn't need money any more."

While the boy spoke, Blake noticed that he was looking at Nicholas Gayne's trunk.

"Kind o' in the way, ain't it? That's a good place for yours to stand. We'll pull Mr. Gayne's trunk out here where I can pack it. He wants me to send him all his things."

Bert's face looked as if sunlight suddenly struck it. It was as if now only he entirely credited the fact that there was nothing to apprehend in the way of a reckoning.

"You are going to send all Uncle Nick's things to him?"

"Yes, everything but you," replied Matt jocosely.

"But I – I don't belong to him any more," explained Bert eagerly. "He gave me to – to the lawyer."

"Good work," said Blake, and, lifting the lid of the old trunk, he fell to opening the dresser drawers.

"Matt Blake," said Miss Burridge, "will you tell me what has happened?"

"Ever hear of Herbert Loring, one o' Boston's rich men? Well, he died suddenly and this boy's his grandson, and the lawyer has persuaded Mr. Gayne to take his hands off." As an addendum to his explanation, Matt bestowed upon Miss Burridge a wink which seemed to say: "More anon."

"And Mr. Gayne isn't coming back?" asked Miss Burridge, sundry financial considerations occurring to her.

"I guess he'll pay up all right," said Blake, reading her thought. "You make out what he owes. I'll see to it. Come on, Herbert Loring, help me to get your uncle's duds together so I won't be packing any o' yours."

"That wouldn't make – make any difference," said the boy, "because Mrs. Lowell said for me not to wear them any more." And he turned to with a will, emptying dresser and closet while Matt packed.

"I hear the motor," said Veronica suddenly.

Miss Burridge had been in a flutter ever since Diana's telegram, saying that her mother and maid would return with her. Miss Priscilla's outlook on life was placidly democratic, but somehow the prospect of having to care for the wife of the steel magnate loomed as something overwhelming. She and Veronica hurried downstairs to meet the guests. Mrs. Lowell and Diana were in high spirits. Léonie had fortunately discovered some resemblance in the island to a fishing village of her childhood and had sat with Bill Lindsay on the front seat coming up. He understood her trim appearance, even if half of what she said so volubly was lost to him.

The springs of the machine were not reminiscent of Mrs. Wilbur's Rolls-Royce, and her lorgnette had not yet been able to discover what charm this corner of the world had exercised upon her daughter. She had been predisposed, from her first view of Philip Barrison, to give him the credit, or discredit; and during the trip from Boston, she had kept one eye upon every move he or Diana had made toward the other. But the examination had revealed nothing. Philip had not even been assiduous toward herself. She would have suspected that instantly. As a matter of fact, almost all the way to Portland, he had concentrated his attention on a book of Brahms' songs, which were welcomed effusively by a curly-headed Irishman in white sweater and trousers who met them when they landed from the island steamer.

"Is it the mother of the goddess, then?" he said when he was presented. "You lost your heart, I'm sure, to that ride down the bay, Mrs. Wilbur."

"It was very lovely. I should like to come around here in the yacht sometime. The rudder chain, or whatever it was on that little boat, nearly banged a hole in my head."

Diana smiled on Kelly. "Mamma has begun roughing it, that's all," she said. "I warned her."

Philip had telephoned down to bespeak the motor in order that the august Mrs. Wilbur might not be obliged to linger on the wharf where, on account of the adjacent fish-house, the odors were not always of Araby, and the only seat was a weather-worn board a little wider than a knife-blade.