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Page 8
That, then--and this was what he wanted to get at--was what these young
people would lose if he produced the will. Nay!--on second thoughts, it
would be much more, very much more in some time; for the manufacturing
business was being carried on by them, and was apparently doing as well
as ever. It was really an enormous amount which they would lose--and
they would get--what? Ten thousand apiece and their mother a like sum.
Thirty thousand pounds in all--in comparison with hundreds of thousands.
But they would have no choice in the matter. Nothing could upset that
will.
He began to think of the three people whom the production of this will
would dispossess. He knew little of them beyond what common gossip had
related at the time of John Mallathorpe's sudden death. They had lived
in very quiet fashion, somewhere on the outskirts of the town, until
this change in their fortunes. Once or twice Pratt had seen Mrs.
Mallathorpe in her carriage in the Barford streets--somebody had pointed
her out to him, and had observed sneeringly that folk can soon adapt
themselves to circumstances, and that Mrs. Mallathorpe now gave herself
all the airs of a duchess, though she had been no more than a hospital
nurse before she married Richard Mallathorpe. And Pratt had also seen
young Harper Mallathorpe now and then in the town--since the good
fortune arrived--and had envied him: he had also thought what a strange
thing it was that money went to young fellows who seemed to have no
particular endowments of brain or energy. Harper was a very ordinary
young man, not over intelligent in appearance, who, Pratt had heard, was
often seen lounging about the one or two fashionable hotels of the
place. As for the daughter, Pratt did not remember having ever set eyes
on her--but he had heard that up to the time of John Mallathorpe's death
she had earned her own living as a governess, or a nurse, or something
of that sort.
He turned from thinking of these three people to thoughts about himself.
Pratt often thought about himself, and always in one direction--the
direction of self-advancement. He was always wanting to get on. He had
nobody to help him. He had kept himself since he was seventeen. His
father and mother were dead; he had no brothers or sisters--the only
relations he had, uncles and aunts, lived--some in London, some in
Canada. He was now twenty-eight, and earning four pounds a week. He had
immense confidence in himself, but he had never seen much chance of
escaping from drudgery. He had often thought of asking Eldrick & Pascoe
to give him his articles--but he had a shrewd idea that his request
would be refused. No--it was difficult to get out of a rut. And yet--he
was a clever fellow, a good-looking fellow, a sharp, shrewd, able--and
here was a chance, such a chance as scarcely ever comes to a man. He
would be a fool if he did not take it, and use it to his own best and
lasting advantage.
And so he locked up the will in a safe place, and went to bed, resolved
to take a bold step towards fortune on the morrow.
CHAPTER III
THE SHOP-BOY
When Pratt arrived at Eldrick & Pascoe's office at his usual hour of
nine next morning, he found the senior partner already there. And with
him was a young man whom the clerk at once set down as Mr. Bartle
Collingwood, and looked at with considerable interest and curiosity. He
had often heard of Mr. Bartle Collingwood, but had never seen him. He
knew that he was the only son of old Antony Bartle's only child--a
daughter who had married a London man; he knew, too, that Collingwood's
parents were both dead, and that the old bookseller had left their son
everything he possessed--a very nice little fortune, as Eldrick had
observed last night. And since last night he had known that Collingwood
had just been called to the Bar, and was on the threshold of what
Eldrick, who evidently knew all about it, believed to be a promising
career. Well, there he was in the flesh; and Pratt, who was a born
observer of men and events, took a good look at him as he stood just
within the private room, talking to Eldrick.
A good-looking fellow; what most folk would call handsome; dark,
clean-shaven, tall, with a certain air of reserve about his well-cut
features, firm lips, and steady eyes that suggested strength and
determination. He would look very well in wig and gown, decided Pratt,
viewing matters from a professional standpoint; he was just the sort
that clients would feel a natural confidence in, and that juries would
listen to. Another of the lucky ones, too; for Pratt knew the contents
of Antony Bartle's will, and that the young man at whom he was looking
had succeeded to a cool five-and-twenty thousand pounds, at least,
through his grandfather's death.
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