Another improbability:
John A. Davis, the proponent, had charge of the Davis farm down in Iowa and stayed there for six years after this alleged will was made, and although he was acquainted with the Quigleys, the Henshaws, the Sconces, and all the aristocracy of the neighborhood, he says he never heard of the existence of this will which so many people of that section talked about. What a place for keeping secrets!
Senator Sanders says that the reason Judge Davis made his will in Salt Creek township was because in that township they knew about this woman or these women and these children, and he didn't want to go into any other community and make his will.
Any need of publishing his will? Any need of reading any more than the attesting clause to the attesting witnesses? Any need to divulge a line? None. Ah, but Senator Sanders said that he wanted to keep the secret. That is the reason he left the will upon that table and rode away in a debonnair kind of style on his roan horse with the bobtail, leaving a congregation of Salt Creek loafers to read his will. He wanted to keep it secret; hoped that it would never get out. Imagine the scene, Job Davis writing the will; Mrs. Downey with a duster tucked under her arm like the soubrette in a theatre. Well, when he was writing the will she was looking over his shoulder and read the will as fast as he wrote it. That makes me think of the fellow who was writing a letter and there was a man looking over his shoulder, so he said: "I would write more but there is a dirty dog looking over my shoulder," and the fellow said: "You are a liar."
Everybody read it. Mrs. Downey read it; she read it as Job wrote it; then he read it aloud; and then he went and got Sconce and read it again; then in comes Glasgow and he read it. I think Mrs. Downey must have read this will ten or twelve times.
Mr. Myers. She said twenty-five.
Mr. Ingersoll. Oh, yes; twenty-five, because it was in Job's handwriting; and whenever the twilight crept around the farm bringing a little sadness, a little pathetic feeling, she would light a candle and hunt the will, and read it just to think about Job. She would see the words "guive" and "wherther" and all that brought back Job, and she used to wonder "wherther" he was in Paradise or not.
Now, John A. lived down there and knew all these people and never heard of that will.
What do you think of that? Why is it that John never got any information from Sconce? Sconce, who saw the will written and who was one of the attesting witnesses. Why didn't he hear of it from old Downey? Why didn't he hear of it from the Quigleys or the Dotsons? Why didn't he hear of it in Salt Creek township, when it was seen and read and read and read again until I think many of them knew it by heart? And yet the only person really interested was walking around unconscious of his great good fortune, and nobody ever told him. There is another thing: For four months after Andrew J. Davis died nobody told John about the will. Nearly four months passed away; I think he died on the 11th of March, 1890, and this will came to John on the first day of July. All the neighbors knew it. Just as soon as A. J. died, they all said: "John is coming right into the fortune now" only nobody told John; and the first man we find with the will is James R. Eddy, and the next man we find with the will is John A. Davis, the proponent. When John A. Davis saw this will, leaving him four or five million dollars, it did not take much to convince him that the signature was genuine. Human nature is made that way. If it was leaving four or five millions to either of us, including the sinner who addresses you, the probability is that I would say, "Well, that looks pretty genuine—pretty genuine." And then if I could get a few other fellows to swear that it was, I would feel certain, and say, "That is my money."
Now, another improbability. All the evidence shows that Judge Davis was a business-like, quiet, methodical, careful, suspicious man, secretive, keeping his business to himself, keeper of his own counsels; and when he did make a will it was sealed; it was given to one of his friends to put away, and to keep. It did not become the common property of the neighborhood. He did not mount his roan horse and ask the people of the community to look at it. He was a methodical, business-like man, and I suppose many of you, gentlemen of the jury, knew him; and I shall rely somewhat on your knowledge of A. J. Davis, for you to say whether he made this will, whether in 1866 he left his old father naked to the world; whether he cared nothing for brothers and sisters; whether he cared nothing for the children of the sister that raised him. I leave it for you to say. You probably know something about this matter. Andrew J. Davis, when he was a child, when all the children were gathered around the same knee, the children that had been nourished at the same tender and holy breast, he would not have done this then. If some good fortune came to one, it was divided.