Phoebe Daring

Janet was pacing up and down the sitting room, red-eyed and extremely nervous. In an easy-chair sat an elderly woman in black, stony-faced and calm, whom Toby at once recognized as Mrs. Ritchie, who owned a large plantation between Riverdale and Bayport. She was one of Judge Ferguson’s oldest clients and the lawyer had for years attended to all of the eccentric old creature’s business affairs.

“This woman,” said Janet, her voice trembling with indignation, “has come to annoy us about some papers.”

Mrs. Ritchie turned her stolid glare upon the clerk.

“You’re Toby Clark,” she said. “I know you. You’re the judge’s office boy. I want all the papers and funds belonging to me, and I want ’em now. They’re in the office, somewhere, in a tin box painted blue, with my name on the end of it. The Fergusons are responsible for my property, I know, but some of those papers are precious. The money could be replaced, but not the documents, and that’s why I want ’em now. Understand? Now!”

Toby was puzzled.

“I remember the blue box marked ‘Ritchie,’ ma’am,” said he, “but I don’t know what’s in it.”

“All my money’s in it – hard cash,” she retorted, “and all my valuable papers besides. I could trust the judge with ’em better than I could trust myself; but I won’t trust anyone else. Now he’s gone I must take charge of the stuff myself. I want that box.”

“Well,” said Toby reflectively, “the box is yours, of course, and you’re entitled to it. But I’m not sure we have the right to remove anything from the judge’s office until an inventory has been made and the will probated. I suppose an administrator or trustee will be appointed who will deliver your box to you.”

“Shucks!” cried Mrs. Ritchie scornfully; “you’re a fool, Toby Clark. You can’t tie up my personal property that way.”

“The law, madam – ”

“Drat the law! The property’s mine, and I want it now.”

Toby looked helplessly at Janet.

“That’s the way she’s been annoying me all the afternoon,” declared the girl, stifling a sob. “Can’t you get rid of her, Toby? Give her anything she wants; only make her go.”

“I’ll go when I get my property,” said Mrs. Ritchie, obstinately settling herself in the chair.

Toby thought about it.

“I might ask Lawyer Kellogg’s advice,” he said. “He wasn’t Judge Ferguson’s friend, but he knows the law and could tell us what to do.”

“Kellogg! That fat pig of a pettifogger?” cried the old woman, sniffing disdainfully. “I wouldn’t believe him on oath.”

“Never mind the law; give her the box, Toby,” implored Janet.

But Toby had a high respect for the law.

“Do you know Mr. Holbrook?” he asked.

“No,” said Janet.

“Who’s Holbrook?” inquired Mrs. Ritchie. “Never heard of him.”

“He is a young lawyer who has just come to Riverdale to practice. I think Will Chandler has rented him our offices,” explained the boy.

“Is he decent?” asked the old woman.

“I – I think so, ma’am. I’ve never seen him but once, a half hour ago. But I’m sure he is competent to advise us.”

“Go get him,” commanded Mrs. Ritchie.

“It will be better for you to come with me,” replied Toby, anxious to relieve Janet of the woman’s disturbing presence. “We will go to the hotel, and I’ll leave you there while I hunt up Mr. Holbrook. He may be stopping at the hotel, you know.”

The woman rose deliberately from her chair.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I want to get my property and drive home before dark. Come along, boy.”

“Thank you, Toby,” whispered Janet, gratefully, as the two passed out of the room.

Mrs. Ritchie’s horse was hitched to a post in front of the house. They climbed into the rickety buggy and she drove into town and to the rambling old clapboard hotel, which was located on the main street. It was beginning to grow dusk by this time.

On the hotel porch stood the man they were seeking. Mr. Holbrook was smoking a cigarette and, with hands thrust deep in his pockets, was gazing vacantly down the street. Turning his attention to the arrivals the young lawyer seemed to recognize Toby. When the boy and the woman approached him he threw away his cigarette and bowed in deference to Mrs. Ritchie’s sex.

“I am Judge Ferguson’s clerk, sir,” began Toby.

“Yes; I know.”

“And this is Mrs. Ritchie, who employed the judge as her confidential business agent.”

“I am glad to know you, madam. Step into the hotel parlor, please. There we may converse with more comfort.”

When they had entered the parlor Toby explained the situation. Mrs. Ritchie wanted her box of private papers and Toby was not sure he had the right to give them up without legal authority.

“That is correct,” observed Mr. Holbrook. “You must have an order from the Probate Court to dispose of any property left by Judge Ferguson.”

“It’s my property!” snapped the woman.

“Very true, madam. We regret that you should be so annoyed. But you can readily understand that your interests are being safeguarded by the law. If anyone, without authority, could deliver your box to you, he might also deliver it to others, in which case you would suffer serious loss. There will be no difficulty, however, in securing the proper order from the court; but that will require a few days’ time.”

“There’s money in that box,” said Mrs. Ritchie. “I don’t trust those swindling banks, so the judge kept all my ready money for me. In that box are thousands of dollars in cold cash, an’ some government bonds as good as cash. I need some money to-day. Can’t this boy let me into the office so I can take what I want out of the box? I’ve got a key, if Toby Clark will open the cupboard for me. I drove to town to-day for money to pay off my hands with, and found the judge died las’ night, without letting me know. A pretty pickle I’ll be in, if the law’s to keep me from my rightful property!”

“You have no right to touch your box, Mrs. Ritchie. The boy has no right to allow you in Mr. Ferguson’s offices.”

“Never mind that; no one will know, if we keep our mouths shut.”

Mr. Holbrook smiled but shook his head.

“I am sorry you should be so distressed,” he said gently, “but the inconvenience is but temporary, I assure you. If you employ me to get the order from the court I will see that there is no unnecessary delay.”

“Humph!” said the woman, looking at him shrewdly. “Will it cost anything?”

“Merely my expenses to the city, a slight fee and the court charges.”

“Merely a job to rob me, eh? You want me to pay good money to get hold of my own property?”

“If you are in a hurry for it. Otherwise, by allowing the law to take its course, the property will be returned to you without charge.”

She considered this statement, eyeing the young man suspiciously the while.