Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute

“Father,” said Guy, who had just dispatched an egg, “I want ten dollars this morning.”

“Ten dollars!” said his father, frowning. “How is this? Did I not give you your week’s allowance two days since?”

“Well, I’ve spent it,” answered Guy, “and I need some more.”

“You must think I am made of money,” said his father, displeased.

“It’s pretty much so,” said Guy, nonchalantly. “Your income must be ten thousand a year.”

“I have a great many expenses. How have you spent your allowance?”

“Oh, I can’t tell exactly. It’s gone, at any rate. You mustn’t become mean, father.”

“Mean! Don’t I give you a handsome allowance? Look here, Guy, I can’t allow such extravagance on your part. This once I’ll give you five dollars, but hereafter, you must keep within your allowance.”

“Can’t you make it ten?”

“No, I can’t,” said his father, shortly.

Guy rose from the table, and left the room, whistling.

“The old man’s getting mean,” he said. “If he doesn’t allow me more, I shall have to get in debt.”

As Guy left the room, the mail was brought in. On one of the envelopes, Mr. Roscoe saw the name of his lawyer. He did not think much of it, supposing it related to some minor matter of business. The letter ran thus:

“ALLAN ROSCOE, ESQ.:

“DEAR SIR: Be kind enough to come up to the city at once. Business of great importance demands your attention.

“Yours respectfully, TIMOTHY TAPE.”

“Mr. Tape is unusually mysterious,” said Allan Roscoe to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “I will go up to-day. I have nothing to keep me at home.”

Mr. Roscoe ordered the carriage, and drove to the depot. Guy, noticing his departure, asked permission to accompany him.

“Not to-day, Guy,” he answered. “I am merely going up to see my lawyer.”

Two hours later Mr. Roscoe entered the office of his lawyer.

“Well, Tape, what’s up?” he asked, in an easy tone. “Your letter was mysterious.”

“I didn’t like to write explicitly,” said Mr. Tape, gravely.

“The matter, you say, is of great importance?”

“It is, indeed! It is no less than a claim for the whole of your late brother’s estate.”

“Who is the claimant?” asked Allan Roscoe, perturbed.

“Your nephew, Hector.”

“I have no nephew Hector. The boy called Hector Roscoe is an adopted son of my brother.”

“I know you so stated. He says he is prepared to prove that he is the lawful son of the late Mr. Roscoe.”

“He can’t prove it!” said Allan Roscoe, turning pale.

“He has brought positive proof from California, so he says.”

“Has he, then, returned?” asked Allan, his heart sinking.

“He is in the city, and expects us to meet him at two o’clock this afternoon, at the office of his lawyer, Mr. Parchment.”

Now, Mr. Parchment was one of the most celebrated lawyers at the New York bar, and the fact that Hector had secured his services showed Allan Roscoe that the matter was indeed serious.

“How could he afford to retain so eminent a lawyer?” asked Allan Roscoe, nervously.

“Titus Newman, the millionaire merchant, backs him.”

“Do you think there is anything in his case?” asked Allan, slowly.

“I can tell better after our interview at two o’clock.”

At five minutes to two Allan Roscoe and Mr. Tape were ushered into the private office of Mr. Parchment.

“Glad to see you, gentlemen,” said the great lawyer, with his usual courtesy.

Two minutes later Hector entered, accompanied by Mr. Newman. Hector nodded coldly to his uncle. He was not of a vindictive nature, but he could not forget that this man, his own near relative, had not only deprived him of his property, but conspired against his life.

“Hector,” said Allan Roscoe, assuming a confidence he did not feel, “I am amazed at your preposterous claim upon the property my brother left to me. This is a poor return for his kindness to one who had no claim upon him.”

“Mr. Parchment will speak for me,” said Hector, briefly.

“My young client,” said the great lawyer, “claims to be the son of the deceased Mr. Roscoe, and, of course, in that capacity, succeeds to his father’s estate.”

“It is one thing to make the claim, and another to substantiate it,” sneered Allan Roscoe.

“Precisely so, Mr. Roscoe,” said Mr. Parchment. “We quite agree with you. Shall I tell you and your learned counsel what we are prepared to prove?”

Mr. Roscoe nodded uneasily.

“We have the affidavits of the lady with whom your brother boarded in Sacramento, and in whose house my young client was born. We have, furthermore, the sworn testimony of the clergyman, still living, who baptized him, and we can show, though it is needless, in the face of such strong proof, that he was always spoken of in his infancy by Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe as their child.”

“And I have my brother’s letter stating that he was only adopted,” asserted Allan Roscoe.

“Even that, admitting it to be genuine,” said Mr. Parchment, “cannot disprove the evidence I have already alluded to. If you insist upon it, however, we will submit the letter to an expert, and—”

“This is a conspiracy. I won’t give up the estate,” said Allan, passionately.