CHAPTER XXX. — TOM, JACK AND NED
Quincy decided to have his company incorporated. This necessitated visits to the Secretary of the Commonwealth and the Tax Commissioner. The amount paid in cash capital was $200,000. Besides the four stores doing business, sixteen more were contemplated in Boston, Cambridge, Lowell, Lawrence, Fall River, New Bedford, and other small cities and large towns.
The design was not to form a trust with a view of controlling certain food products and raising prices, but to establish a line of stores in which the best grade at the lowest cash price should be the rule. This price was to be fixed for the Boston store and was to be the same in all the stores.
“Whom shall I put in charge of the Boston store, Quincy?” his father asked. “He will have to be general manager for the whole circuit.”
“I know a man,” said young Quincy, “who is honest, conscientious, and a perfect tiger for work, but he knows nothing about the grocery business. He has adaptability, that valuable quality, but, while learning, he might make some costly mistakes.”
“I want you to act as Treasurer for the company. It's your money, and you should handle it.”
“I've no objection to drawing checks. We sha'n't have to borrow any money for there's half a million available any time. Why didn't you have a larger capital, father?”
“Because the State taxes it so heavily; but there's no tax on borrowed money. The fellow who lends pays that.”
“If I loan money do I have to pay taxes on it when I haven't got it?”
“Certainly, and you pay just the same if there's no prospect of its ever being repaid.”
“That's funny.”
“Funny! Why, our Massachusetts tax laws are funnier than a comic almanac, and about as sensible.”
Quincy took up a pen and began writing.
“What are you writing, father?”
“I'll show you in a few minutes.”
“How will that do?”
Quincy read:
QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, President. QUINCY
ADAMS SAWYER, Jr., Treasurer. THOMAS CHRIPP,
General Manager. Cash Capital, $200,000.
Cable, Vienna. 20 Stores.
THE SAWYER GROCERY COMPANY, INC.
Wholesale and Retail.
“Just the man I had in mind, father. You can depend upon him every time, and he'll keep his subordinates right up to the mark.”
Upon his return to his native state Quincy had found many of his old friends still in office. The governor and higher officials were only annuals—some not very hardy at that—while the minor officials, in many cases, were hardy perennials, whom no political hot weather or cold storm could wither or destroy.
A presidential campaign was on, and speakers, for there were few orators, were in demand. Quincy's visits to so many cities inspecting the Company's stores had brought him in contact with hundreds of local politicians. One day there came a call from the State Committee to come in and see the Secretary.
“Do you want to do something for the party?” asked Mr. Thwing, the Secretary.
“I have already subscribed,” said Quincy. “Do you need more?”
“Money talks,” said Mr. Thwing, “and so do you. I have a score of letters from different cities asking me to add you to our list of speakers, and to be sure and let the writers hear you.”
“I had no intention—” Quincy began.
“You're an ex-governor, and know all the State. Aren't you in the grocery business in a big way?”
“Rather.”
“'Twill boom your business in great style. Better even for groceries than boots and shoes, for food is a daily consumption.”
“I wouldn't go on the stump just to advertise my business.”
“Of course not. You would take just what the gods provided and ask no questions, and make no comments. Shall we put you down for, say, twenty nights?”
Quincy consented, but he stipulated that he was not to be placed in any city or town where he had a store.
Mr. Thwing vehemently objected. “Why, the men who want you to come live where the stores are.”
“I can't help it. Put me in the next town, and if they're so anxious to hear me they'll come.”
After the campaign was over, the votes cast, and the victory won, Mr. Thwing said, “That was a good business idea of yours, Governor, about your not going into the towns where your stores were. Of course you instructed your general manager.”
“I don't know what you mean,” said Quincy.
“Didn't you know when you spoke in places adjoining those in which you had stores that your Mr. Chripp, I think that's the name—just flooded the towns with circulars announcing that you were to speak and that you were the President of the grocery company doing business in the adjoining city, that your goods were the best, your prices the lowest—and that your teams would deliver goods free of charge in all places within five miles?”
Mr. Thwing stopped to take breath, and Quincy nearly lost his in astonishment.
“Great business idea, Mr. Sawyer.”
“I knew nothing about it. I should have stopped it had I known.”
“Why so? You got a double ad. Bright man that Chripp. You'll have to raise his salary.”
Quincy did not reply. The deed was done, and a public explanation would do no good. Chripp surely had his employer's interests at heart, even if he had mixed politics and business rather too openly. The next month's statement showed a great increase in trade. Mr. Chripp was not called to account, but his salary was materially increased at the suggestion of young Quincy.
The new President had been inaugurated, the Cabinet nominees confirmed, and the distribution of political “plums” began. Quincy felt that the lightning had struck in the wrong place when he was approached and sounded as to whether he would accept a foreign mission. He talked the matter over with his wife.
“Quincy,” said she, “I would go, if I were you.”
“Are you not happy here?”
“Yes, and no. Happy to be near my son, and relatives and friends; no, because your business takes you away so much that I see little of you. If you take the mission, I shall have you with me all the time. I am selfish, I know, but it is my love for you that makes me so.”
The Hon. Quincy Adams Sawyer was nominated and confirmed as Ambassador to Austria-Hungary. Alice had made the selection.
“Let us go to Vienna, Quincy. It was there we met after our long separation—and, this is purely a personal matter, I wish to study the scenes of my story, 'The Son of Sergius,' at close range.”
Before Quincy's departure it had been decided to lease the Beacon Street house for four years. Maude was given her choice but preferred the house in Mount Vernon Street where she had lived since her marriage.
Young Quincy was obliged to take bachelor quarters which he found at Norumbega Chambers.
His suite consisted of a sitting-room, two sleeping rooms each with bath, and a small room intended for a library or study, and which was utilized by him as an office.
Quincy went down the harbour with his father and mother on the ocean liner, returning on the tug with Tom. On the way back young Quincy took a small envelope from his pocket and extracted a short note which he had read at least a dozen times since its receipt. It was from Miss Mary Dana and informed him that she had returned to Boston and would be pleased to see him, the next day, at her office with the Isburn Detective Bureau.
It was a cold, raw day in the early part of April and when they reached the city Quincy was taken with a chill. When they reached Norumbega Chambers the chill had turned to a fever, and Tom suggested sending for a doctor. Quincy stoutly protested against any such action being taken, but Tom summoned one despite his objections. In this way, Quincy became acquainted with John Loring Bannister, M. D.
Dr. Bannister was unknown to his patient when he paid his first visit, and was professionally non-communicative, but he told him afterwards, when their acquaintance had ripened to such an extent that the names Quincy and Jack took the place of more formal designations, that it had always seemed a wonder to him that he had survived. Quincy, with no intention of indulging in flattery, replied that if a certain physician had not been called in he, probably, would not have done so.
Quincy's condition on the second day was so low, indeed, that Dr. Bannister told Tom if his friend had not made a will he had better do so. Tom's first thought was to send for Mr. Merry, but he decided that might lead to a charge of family influence, and he appealed to the doctor.
Dr. Bannister told Tom he was well acquainted with a young lawyer and that he would send him up to see Mr. Sawyer. Quincy was in such a condition when Lawyer Edward Everett Colbert made his first visit, that if he had been asked the name of the principal beneficiary he would probably have told the lawyer to let it go to the Devil. The second time that Mr. Colbert called, Quincy's physical will had resumed control and he had no need of any other.
When convalescing Quincy said to Tom, when the nurse was absent, “If you thought I was going to die, why didn't you send for Aunt Maude, and—and—you know whom I mean—Miss Dana?”
“I saw them every day, but you were too weak to see them, but if—they would have been summoned.”
“Tom, your head is so level that a plane couldn't make a shaving.”
Tom was obliged to be away daytimes, the buying for twenty stores requiring much travel.
Dr. Bannister and Lawyer Colbert were occasional visitors and Quincy received a manifest mental exhilaration from his intercourse with them. His sickness had led him to think about the future. Was he to live and die as the treasurer of a grocery company? Had he no higher ideal?
A story told by Jack and Ned, which they knew to be true, because they were the principal actors therein, led Quincy to give himself up to some mighty thinking.
The story was related one evening in the sitting-room when Tom was present.
“What I'm going to tell,” began Ned, “will include much more than I saw or knew myself, but it all comes from authentic sources. I shall omit names, since they are unessential.
“Among my clients was an old gentleman, over seventy years of age, but still erect and vigorous. One morning I received a letter requesting me to call at his house. I found him in bed feeling all tired out. He said he had never had a doctor in his life.
“The doctor, here, assures me that those people who never need a doctor until they are well advanced in life are not likely to require a physician's services more than once. The next call is for the undertaker.”
“That's so,” broke in Jack; “it's the person who is continually calling upon a doctor for every little ailment who lives to an old age, for instead of letting disease creep upon him, he calls for medical assistance as soon as he experiences any derangement of his physical system. If all the people would follow this plan, it would increase the longevity of the human race.”
“And materially increase the income of the medical profession,” added Quincy.
“It proved to be the old gentleman's first and last sickness. In order that you may fully understand the wonderful event which took place the night he died, I shall have to give you a history of his family.”
Quincy consulted his watch. “It is now but a few minutes past seven. I will give you until midnight, my usual time for retiring.”
“I have an engagement at ten or thereabouts,” said Jack, “but it's a matter of life instead of death.”
Ned continued: “My client had a son and daughter, both married. They were good children and loved their father on the American plan. The son had married an avaricious woman, while the daughter was married to a man who was not so avaricious as his sister-in-law. The old gentleman was very wealthy and like all good children they were thinking of the time when the property would be divided.”
“I see signs of a family squabble,” remarked Quincy.
“It came to pass,” said Ned. “The French have a maxim which says it is advisable to search for the woman in all mysterious cases. In this instance, the woman did not wait to be searched for but came of her own accord. She insisted upon having the card bearing the name of Mrs. James Bliss sent up to the sick man; when he saw it he, in turn, insisted upon seeing the woman. The family wished to be present at the interview but my client demanded a private conversation which lasted for an hour.
“Jack had been in daily attendance as a physician, but I was not sent for until the day following Mrs. Bliss's visit. He had told his son that he wished to make his will, and the son told the other members of the family. They wished him to make a will, of course, but they were afraid that woman had exercised undue influence. As the son expressed it, the better way would be to let the law make the decision.
“My client insisted upon seeing me alone. He told me the woman's story. Many years before, when my client was a poor man, her father had set him up in business. He had told his daughter of the loan before his death, and her visit was to ask for payment as she was a widow and poor, with three children to support.
“My client directed me to put her in the will for fifty thousand dollars, saying the original loan at six per cent, would amount to fully that amount.
“The son, when told the story by me made no objection to the bequest but the son's wife and the son-in-law declared that the note she had was outlawed and that she shouldn't have a cent. The son-in-law put a private detective on her track who learned that Mrs. Bliss was a test and trance medium, and that she gave materialization séances at private houses. The whole family then declared her to be a fraud and impostor, and declared their intention of breaking the will if it was signed.
“Now we are getting to the lively part of the story. The will was ready for signing. It was about five minutes past six when I was admitted and I went right up to my client's room. I had been there about five minutes when Jack came in. He was followed by the entire family, the son-in-law having been chosen to prevent the signing of the will.
“Then occurred a sensational episode. Mrs. Bliss came to inquire about my client's condition and the unsuspecting nurse admitted her. She came directly to the room where we were all assembled.”
“A strong situation for a play,” remarked Quincy.
“They played it,” said Ned. “The son-in-law took Mrs. Bliss into an adjoining room and ordered her to stay there. Then he returned. This was to be a Waterloo but he was the Wellington.
“My client was propped up in bed, a pen placed in his hand, while the document rested on a large book which Jack held.
“The son-in-law began the oratory. 'I protest,' he screamed. 'This sacrilege, this injustice shall not be done with my consent.' What was it you said to him, Jack?”
“I told him unless he stopped talking in such an excited manner, and made less noise, it would have a very prejudicial effect upon my patient's health.
“The son-in-law then denounced Mrs. Bliss as an adventuress, and that she had no legal claim upon his father-in-law. His loud voice and violent gestures were too much for the invalid. The pen dropped from his nerveless fingers and he fell back exhausted. I think you had better take it up now, Ned.”
“All right. You gave me a chance to rest my voice. Yes, thank you,” as Tom passed him a glass of water.
Ned resumed, “The door was opened and Mrs. Bliss looked in. 'Has he signed?' she asked.
“'No, he hasn't,' yelled the son-in-law, 'and while I live he never shall' Now you come in again, Jack.”
“'Ladies and gentlemen.' said I, 'this excitement must stop. As medical adviser I order you all to leave the room.' They objected, but I told them if they didn't, I should resign charge of the case and refuse to give a death certificate unless there was an inquest. That frightened them, and they all went out, the son-in-law escorting Mrs. Bliss.”
“We propped up the patient again, and I gave him some brandy. He said, 'I must sign.' He took the pen and made a ragged, disjointed capital 'T.'
“The pen dropped from his hand and he fell back upon the pillow. Ned put the unsigned will in his pocket. I found that the end was very near and I told Ned to call the family. Now, it's your turn, Ned.”
“I told the family they had better go to their father's room at once. Mrs. Bliss arose with the intention of following them but I told her she was not one of the family; that she could remain with me as my services were no longer needed. She turned to me and asked: 'Was it signed?' I shook my head. Without a word she sank upon the nearest chair and buried her face in her arms.
“I stood irresolute. The spectacle of this silent woman, speechless because she was to be deprived of what was justly due her, was a situation with which I did not know how to deal. I was saved the necessity of saying or doing anything by the sudden entrance of Jack who cried: 'Ned, it's all over; he's dead.'”
“Now comes the wonderful, inexplainable, part of the story. There was a single gas-burner alight in the room. It was turned down low; faces were discernible, but the room was only half lighted. Hearing a movement, Jack and I turned towards Mrs. Bliss. She had lifted her head from the table and was gazing directly at us. Her eyes were open, but they had a glassy look. Then it seemed as though the room was gradually becoming darker and darker, until the darkness became intense.
“My first thought was that Mrs. Bliss had put out the gas. Before I had time to question her, Jack and I caught sight of a white spot that was approaching us from the corner of the room nearest the doorway which led into the hallway. This light, which was no larger than a man's hand at first, increased in size and intensity until it covered a space at least two feet wide and six feet high. I must admit that my hair was inclined to stand on end.”
“And mine too,” exclaimed Jack.
“Suddenly,” said Ned, “the light, which was nebulous, began to fall away in places and assume a shape like the form of a man. Then the portion where a man's head ought to be, assumed the appearance of one. Jack and I clasped hands and retreated to the farther corner of the room. This act on our part was purely voluntary. If I had possessed a Remington rifle, six Colt's revolvers, and a dynamite bomb, I should have backed out just the same.
“We could not remove our eyes from the glittering, moving, thing; and now a most surprising change took place. The light seemed to leave the figure, so that it was not visible as a light, and yet it filled the room with a radiant glow.
“Who was that who stood before us? Could we believe our eyes? Were they playing us a trick? Were we the victims of a too active imagination? No, there could be no mistake. The form that stood before us was that of the man who lay dead in the next room.
“Turning towards us, from the form came the words distinctly spoken—'It must be signed!' The figure pointed to the table near which Mrs. Bliss still sat in an apparently unconscious state. I took the will from my pocket, opened it, advanced to the table, and laid it thereon. The figure reached out its right hand and beckoned. The thought came to me that he wanted a pen. There was none in the room. Jack divined the situation as quickly as I did and took his stylographic pen from his visiting book, fitted it for use, and laid it on the table beside the will. The form advanced, took up the pen, joined a small letter to the capital 'T' already written, and finished out the name in full.
“The form then laid the pen upon the table and pointed to the places set apart for witnesses. I wrote my name, Edward Everett Colbert, and Jack put his,—John Loring Bannister, under mine.”
“Did the form sit down?” asked Quincy.
“No. The only chair near the table was the one in which Mrs. Bliss sat. I could not resist the inclination to whisper in Jack's ear: 'What do you think of that?' We both turned with the intention of taking another look at 'That,' but it had disappeared and the gas was burning at about half-light.
“Mrs. Bliss arose from her seat with a pleasant smile on her face. 'You said that he had signed it—I understood you to say so, did I not?' I said nothing, but drew the will from my pocket and pointed to the signatures. Then Jack said it was his duty to see the sorrowing family and for me to escort Mrs. Bliss to a car.
“Jack and I took dinner together in a private room at Young's the next day. We decided that it was my duty to present the will for probate. Although it is presumed by the statutes of this Commonwealth that a will is signed by a living man, I was unable to find anything in said statutes to prevent a dead man, if he were so disposed and able, or enabled, doing so.”
“Of course the will was presented for probate,” said Quincy.
“It was,” replied Ned, “and despite the energetic efforts of the avaricious son-in-law, was admitted. His lawyer brought up the point that the will should have had three witnesses, but I showed him the note, told him Mrs. Bliss's story, and declared that I would fight the case up to the Supreme Court if necessary.
“There was no doubt in the mind of the registrar as to the authenticity of the will for was it not duly signed and witnessed by Dr. Bannister, a physician of the highest repute, and Lawyer Colbert, a bright and shining light of the legal profession?”
“Your story taxes my credulity,” said Quincy, “but I will not allow it to break our friendship. Tom, kindly ring for that supper to be sent up.” He looked at his watch. “Doctor, you've time to spare. 'Tis only nine-thirty.”