If I had been stirred by strong emotions at the sight of Norwich City, conceive how much more deeply I was stirred when we reached Norwich Town—when I saw our old house peeping out from among the great elm-trees that embosomed it—when I actually stood upon its doorstep, with my hand upon the old brass knocker! A strange servant girl opened the door, and to my request to see Judge Brace, replied, “The Jedge is sick in his room.”
“That doesn't matter,” I explained. “You know, I am his nephew. Tell him his nephew Gregory wants to see him.” And I marched boldly through the hall—where the same tall eight-day clock, with its silver face that showed the phases of the moon, was ticking just as it had used to tick as long ago as I could remember—and into the parlor, Ripley following. I say I marched in boldly, yet I was really frightened half to death, as the moment of a face-to-face meeting with my terrible uncle became so imminent. There in the parlor stood the piano upon which my grandmother had labored so patiently to teach me to play. There hung the oil portrait of her, in her robe of cream-colored silk, taken when she was a beautiful young girl, and there, opposite it, above the fireplace, the companion-picture of my Uncle Florimond, in his lieutenant's uniform, with his sword and his crimson sash. Ripley started back a little when he saw this painting, and cried, “For mercy's sake, Greg, who is it? I never saw anything like it. The same eyes, nose, mouth, chin, everything. It's you all over”—thus confirming what my grandmother used to tell me: “Gregory, thou art his living image.” The room was haunted by a myriad dear associations. I forgot the errand that had brought me there; I forgot my fear of meeting Uncle Peter; I forgot all of the recent past, and was carried back to the happiest days of my childhood; and my heart just swelled, and thrilled, and ached. But next instant it gave a great spasmodic leap, and stood still for a second, and then began to gallop ahead like mad, while a perspiration broke out over my forehead; for the maid-servant entered, and said “Please walk upstairs to the Jedge's room.” I really thought I should faint. It was as much as I could do to get my breath. My knees knocked together. My hands shook like those of an aged palsy-stricken man. However, there was no such thing as backing out at this late date; so I screwed my courage to the sticking place, and led Ripley upstairs to Uncle Peter's room.
Uncle Peter was seated in an arm-chair, with his legs, wrapped in a comforter, stretched out on another chair in front of him. He never so much as said how-d'-ye-do? or anything; but at once, scowling at us, asked in his gruffest voice, “Well, what do you want?”
I was so afraid and so abashed that I could hardly speak; but I did contrive to point at Ripley, and gasp, “He—he'll tell you.”
“Well,” snapped Uncle Peter, turning to my spokesman, “go on. State your business.”
“Well, sir,” began Rip—and O, me! as I listened to him, didn't my wonder at his wisdom, and my admiration of his eloquence, mount up a peg?—“well, sir, our business is very simple, and can be stated in a very few words. The amount of it is simply this. My friend Gregory Brace, being the only child of Edward Brace, deceased, who was a son of your mother, Aurore Brace, deceased, is, equally with yourself, the heir and next-of-kin of the said decedent, and would, in the event of her having died intestate, divide share and share alike with you whatever property she left. Now, sir, we have caused a search to be made in the records of the Probate Court of this County, and we find that the said decedent did in fact die intestate. It, therefore, became your duty to petition for Letters of Administration upon her estate; to cite Gregory Brace to show cause why such Letters should not be issued; to cause a guardian ad litem to be appointed to act for him in the proceedings; to cause a permanent guardian to be appointed for him after the issuance of said Letters; and then to apply the rents, profits, and income of one undivided half of the estate of said decedent to his support, maintenance and education, allowing what excess there might be to accrue to his benefit. Well, sir, examination proves that you have performed none of these duties; that you have illegally and without warrant or authority possessed yourself of the whole of said estate, thereby committing a fraud upon the said Gregory Brace, and violating the statutes in such case made and provided. And now, sir, we have come here to give you notice that it is our intention to put this matter at once into the hands of an attorney, with directions that he proceed against you, both criminally and civilly.” Uncle Peter heard Ripley through without interrupting, though an ugly smile flickered about his lips. When Rip had done, he lay back in his chair, and gave a loud harsh laugh. Then he drew a long, mock-respectful face, and in a very dry, sarcastic manner spoke as follows:—
“Why, my young friend, you talk like a book. And what profound and varied knowledge of the law you do possess, to be sure! Why, I must congratulate my nephew upon having found such an able and sagacious advocate. And really, I cannot see the necessity of your calling in the services of an attorney, for a person of your distinguished calibre ought certainly to be equal to conducting this dual prosecution, both civil and criminal, single-handed. My sakes alive!” he cried, with a sudden change of tone and bearing. “Do you know what I've a great mind to do with you and your client, my fine young fellow? I've a great mind to cane you both within an inch of your precious lives, and send you skulking away, with your tails between your legs, like two whipped puppies. But, bless me, no! You're neither of you worth the trouble. So I'll spare my rod, and spoil your fancy, by giving you a small measure of information. Now, then, pray tell me, Mr. Advocate, what is your valuation of the property which the 'said decedent' left?”
Ripley, nothing daunted, answered, “At least a hundred thousand dollars.”
“At least a hundred thousand dollars,” repeated Uncle Peter; “well, that's a pretty sum. Well, now, what would you say, my learned friend, if I should tell you that she didn't leave a penny?”
“I should say it was very extraordinary, and that I couldn't believe it. She was the widow of a wealthy man. She lived in good style. It stands to reason that she couldn't have died penniless.”