The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

“Do you want a refresher so soon, Timms?—Jack tells me that she has given you two hundred and fifty dollars already!”

“I acknowledge it, sir; and a very respectable fee it is—you ought to have a thousand, ’Squire.”

“I have not received a cent, nor do I mean to touch any of her money. My feelings are in the case, and I am willing to work for nothing.”

Timms gave his old master a quick but scrutinizing glance. Dunscomb was youthful, in all respects, for his time of life; and many a man has loved, and married, and become the parent of a flourishing family, who had seen all the days he had seen. That glance was to inquire if it were possible that the uncle and nephew were likely to be rivals, and to obtain as much knowledge as could be readily gleaned in a quick, jealous look. But the counsellor was calm as usual, and no tinge of colour, no sigh, no gentleness of expression, betrayed the existence of the master passion. It was reported among the bachelor’s intimates that formerly, when he was about five-and-twenty, he had had an affair of the heart, which had taken such deep hold that even the lady’s marriage with another man had not destroyed its impression. That marriage was said not to have been happy, and was succeeded by a second, that was still less so; though the parties were affluent, educated, and possessed all the means that are commonly supposed to produce felicity. A single child was the issue of the first marriage, and its birth had shortly preceded the separation that followed. Three years later the father died, leaving the whole of a very ample fortune to this child, coupled with the strange request that Dunscomb, once the betrothed of her mother, should be the trustee and guardian of the daughter. This extraordinary demand had not been complied with, and Dunscomb had not seen any of the parties from the time he broke with his mistress. The heiress married young, died within the year, and left another heiress; but no further allusion to our counsellor was made, in any of the later wills and settlements. Once, indeed, he had been professionally consulted concerning the devises in favour of the granddaughter—a certain Mildred Millington—who was a second-cousin to Michael of that name, and as rich as he was poor. For some years, a sort of vague expectation prevailed that those two young Millingtons might marry; but a feud existed in the family, and little or no intercourse was permitted. The early removal of the young lady to a distant school prevented such a result; and Michael, in due time, fell within the influence of Sarah Wilmeter’s gentleness, beauty, and affection.

Timms came to the conclusion that his old master was not in love.

“It is very convenient to be rich, ’Squire,” this singular being remarked; “and I dare say it may be very pleasant to practise for nothing, when a man has his pocket full of money. I am poor, and have particular satisfaction in a good warm fee. By the way, sir, my part of the business requires plenty of money I do not think I can even commence operations with less than five hundred dollars.”

Dunscomb leaned back, stretched forth an arm, drew his cheque-book from its niche, and filled a cheque for the sum just mentioned. This he quietly handed to Timms, without asking for any receipt; for, while he knew that his old student and fellow-practitioner was no more to be trusted in matters of practice than was an eel in the hand, he knew that he was scrupulously honest in matters of account. There was not a man in the state to whom Dunscomb would sooner confide the care of uncounted gold, or the administration of an estate, or the payment of a legacy, than this very individual; who, he also well knew, would not scruple to set all the provisions of the law at naught, in order to obtain a verdict, when his feelings were really in the case.

“There, Timms,” said the senior counsel, glancing at his draft before he handed it to the other, in order to see that it was correct; “there is what you ask for. Five hundred for expenses, and half as much as a fee.”

“Thank you, sir. I hope this is not gratuitous, as well as the services?”

“It is not. There is no want of funds, and I am put in possession of sufficient money to carry us through with credit; but it is as a trustee, and not as a fee. This, indeed, is the most extraordinary part of the whole affair;—to find a delicate, educated, accomplished lady, with her pockets well lined, in such a situation!”