Luck and Pluck

"If this will exists," she said, "it ought to be found."

"So I think," said the lawyer, surprised to hear her speak thus.

"And though its discovery would be to my disadvantage, I certainly shall not object to a search. Are you at leisure now to assist me in such a search?"

"I am," said the lawyer. "I think there is no time like the present."

"Then let us begin in this very room."

"It wouldn't be likely to be here. Still it is best not to slight any possible place of concealment."

Assisted by Mrs. Oakley, Squire Selwyn commenced a strict search, beginning with the parlor, and proceeding from room to room. He little suspected how near him the document was all the time. Of course the search proved fruitless.

"There is one room which has not yet been searched," said Mrs. Oakley,—"the only one except the kitchen, in which Mr. Oakley would be hardly likely to conceal it. I mean my own room."

"There's no occasion to search there."

"I would prefer that the search should be thorough. Here are my keys. I would rather have you go up."

Thus requested, Squire Selwyn complied with the request. He returned from the quest disappointed.

"It is very strange," he thought. "I am firmly convinced that my friend Oakley left a will in existence. But where is it?"

That question he was unable to answer.

"I cannot find the will," he said.

"I am glad you have searched," said Mrs. Oakley. "The fact that I have given you every facility for searching proves that I am perfectly willing that my husband's will should be carried out."

"And his wishes as well?"

"What do you refer to?"

"I refer to John's education."

"I have made up my mind as to that," said Mrs. Oakley, briefly.

"Do you consider your brother's house a suitable home for Mr. Oakley's son?"

"Why not?" she demanded, sharply.

"Do you think, in setting him to work in a shoe-shop, you are doing as his father wished?"

"I do not know where you got your information, Mr. Selwyn," said Mrs. Oakley, angrily, "but I must tell you that you are meddling with business that does not concern you. As you were my husband's lawyer, and drew up the will which you thought in existence, I have asked you to search for it; I have even opened my own chamber to your search. You ought to be satisfied by this time that you are mistaken. In doing this, I have done all that I intend doing. I shall take my own course with John Oakley, who is dependent upon me, and whatever you choose to think or say can have no effect upon me. Good-afternoon, sir."

Mrs. Oakley swept from the room, and Squire Selwyn left the house, feeling that his visit had not benefited John in the slightest degree. That night he wrote John a letter.

CHAPTER XXII.

MR. HUXTER GETS INTO HOT WATER

It was Mr. Huxter's intention to set John to work as soon as possible; but it so happened that the shoe business, in which he was engaged, had been for some time unusually dull, and had not yet revived. To this circumstance our hero was indebted for the comparative freedom which for a few days he was permitted to enjoy. During that time he was waiting anxiously for the expected letter from Squire Selwyn. He wished to know whether his stepmother was resolutely determined upon her present course with regard to himself, before he decided to take the matter into his own hands, and help himself in his own way. Upon one thing he was fully resolved,—not to remain much longer a member of Mr. Huxter's household.

As the letter was to come to the Milbank post-office, on the fourth afternoon he walked over to that village. This time he was not fortunate enough to meet David Wallace, and therefore had a long and tiresome walk.

"Is there a letter here for John Oakley?" he inquired of the postmaster.

"John Oakley," said the old official, looking under his glasses. "Do you live round here?"

"I am passing a short time in the neighborhood," said John.

The postmaster took some time to adjust his spectacles, and a longer time in looking over the letters. John waited anxiously, fearing that he had taken the long walk for nothing. But he was destined to be more fortunate.

"You said your name was John Oakley?" repeated the official, balancing a letter in his hand.

"Yes," said John, quickly.

"Then here's a letter for you. It looks like Squire Selwyn's writing."

"It is from him," said John.

"Then you know him?"

"Yes," said John, mechanically, impatiently tearing open the letter.

"He's a good lawyer, the squire is," said the postmaster. "He was here only last week."

"Yes, I saw him."

This was the letter which John received:—

"My dear young Friend:—I called upon your stepmother yesterday in the afternoon, hoping to induce her to adopt different measures with regard to yourself. I regret to say that I failed utterly in my mission. She will not permit you to go to college, declaring that you have already a sufficient education. Nor will she remove you from the house of Mr. Huxter, though I represented that he was not a proper person to have the charge of you.

"We had some conversation about the missing will. I was a little surprised by her suggesting that I should search the house for it. I was glad of the opportunity, and proceeded to do so. I made the search as thorough as possible, but discovered nothing. I still believe, however, that the will is in existence, unless it has been destroyed since your father's death.

"I hardly know what to advise under the circumstances. If you should leave Mr. Huxter, I advise you to seek your aunt at Wilton, and I shall be glad to hear from you when you have arrived there. If you should need money, do not hesitate to apply to me, remembering that I am your father's friend."

"Your true friend,

    James Selwyn."

"P. S. I enclose a few lines from Sam."

There was another sheet inside the envelope, on which John recognized easily Sam's familiar handwriting. He was very glad to hear from Sam, for whom he felt a warm attachment.

Here is Sam's letter:—

"Dear John:—I have been missing you awfully. I couldn't think what had become of you till father told me he had seen you at Milbank. So you are in the spider's clutches, you poor innocent fly? A nice time you must have of it with old Huxter. I declare I've no patience with Mrs. Oakley, when I think of the way she has treated you. I can't do anything to her; but I'll take it out in tricks on Ben. By the way, your amiable stepbrother has got a new friend,—a flashy young man from New York, who sports a lot of bogus jewelry, and smokes from ten to a dozen cigars a day, and spends his time in lounging about the billiard and bar room. He isn't doing Ben any good. They play billiards a good deal, and he tells Ben stories about the city, which I expect will make Ben want to go there. Do you think Mrs. Oakley will let him?