CHAPTER II
HOW MRS. RITCHIE DEMANDED HER PROPERTY
Toby Clark was inexpressibly shocked when one morning he learned that his dear friend and patron had been found dead in his bed. At once the lame boy hobbled over to the Ferguson home, a comfortable house at the far end of Riverdale, to find Mrs. Ferguson prostrated with grief, and Janet, the only daughter, weeping miserably and rejecting all attempts to comfort her. So he crept back to town, mounted the stairs to the homely law offices over the post office and sat down to try to realize that the kindly face he loved would never brighten its dingy gray walls again.
All the morning and till past noon Toby sat in the silent place, where every object reflected the personality of his departed master, bemoaning his loss and living over in memory the happy days that were past. Early in the afternoon steps sounded on the stairs. A key turned in the outer door and Will Chandler, the postmaster, entered the office, accompanied by a stranger.
Toby knew that Chandler, who owned the building, usually kept Judge Ferguson’s office key. Whenever the old judge, who was absent-minded at times, changed his trousers at home he would forget to change the contents of the pockets. So, to avoid being obliged to return home for his key on such occasions, he was accustomed to leave it in Chandler’s keeping, where it might be conveniently found when needed. Of late years the judge had seldom required the key to the outer door, for Toby Clark was always on hand and had the offices swept, dusted and aired long before his master arrived. Mr. Chandler was a reliable man and as fully trusted by Mr. Ferguson as was Toby.
“Oh, you’re here, eh?” exclaimed the postmaster, in surprise, as his eyes fell upon the boy.
Toby nodded his reply, staring vacantly.
“The Fergusons have been inquiring for you,” continued Chandler. “I believe Janet wants you at the house.”
Toby slowly rose and balanced himself on his crutch. Then he cast a hesitating glance at the stranger.
“You’ll lock up, sir, when you go away?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied Will Chandler. “I only came to show this gentleman, Mr. Holbrook, the offices. He’s a lawyer and has been in town for several days, trying to find a suitable place to locate. As poor Ferguson will not need these rooms hereafter I shall rent them to Mr. Holbrook—if they suit him.”