There was tragedy written on the man’s earnest face, and a note of pathos sounded in his voice. For a moment neither of us spoke.
“Mr. Bateman,” I said at last. “Because I have listened to you, you must not suppose I have for one instant countenanced your scheme. It is impossible from beginning to end. Suppose we terminate this interview——”
“I see it!” he exclaimed suddenly—“I see it! You think the plan will fail and you take some risk for no gain in case my estate is bankrupt. I have said that if I do not get money I am ruined. I would not be, strictly speaking, a bankrupt. With my plans gone wrong my estate would still amount to $75,000. Your fee is safe. I have provided for that in the Will. Read it and see if I am not right. I cannot prove to-night the accuracy of my figures. To that extent you must trust me.”
It was pathetic to hear this rough old man pleading in such a manner. I suddenly felt more sorry than indignant and answered him quite gently.
“I’m not practicing law, Mr. Bateman, merely for fees, or for only one case. I am following it as a career.”
“What in hell’s name has that got to do with it?” he burst forth angrily. “I’m sick and tired of your hypocrisy and that of your whole legal crew. You take cases you don’t believe in, argue to prove what you know is false, defeat the laws, shield the dishonest, help criminals to escape, bully and insult honest men, tell lies, act lies, live lies,—do anything and everything that’s safe and disgusting—and yet you prate to me about your career! Your career indeed! God save me from the smirch and smirk of it all!”
“Have you quite finished, Mr. Bateman?”
The old man’s face was purple with rage and his hands trembled as they clutched the arms of his chair. It was not until the look of hate faded from his eyes that he spoke again.
“No, Sir, I’ve not finished—but I apologise for what I said. It was childish—foolish. I was at the end of my patience for it seems so unjust that you should take such a stand. I ask you to save me from what would be ruin to me, for what should be a fortune to you. I ask you to do no wrong to any man, woman or child in the world. I have toiled years and years in my business. I have suffered to get what I have, and I made every dollar honestly, by my brains alone. I have only one ambition—have had only one thought for years—to die a rich man—the successful merchant of my time. A poor ambition you think? Well, it’s my heart’s desire. Take it away and I am dead. I have no wife, no children, no relatives of any sort. Examine my Will and see what I propose to do with my money. What have I to live for save the joy of making? Oh, man, man, can’t you understand? Don’t you see what this means to me?”
I could not at once find an answer for the poor wretch, almost frantic with anxiety. He interpreted my silence hopefully, for he continued,