The Man with the Wooden Spectacles. Harry Stephen Keeler

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      “Oh he said, Aunt, that he had just put it in as a sort of ‘joke’—to teach me my first lesson in law. It was something, he said, that of course he’d never enforce.”

      “Oh, he did, hey? Bet he didn’ say dat ‘fo’ any witnesses?”

      “That’s right, I will admit,” Elsa conceded. “He said it only at a time and place when we were quite alone.”

      Aunt Linda nodded darkly. “So he tell you he des gibbin’ you a free lesson, heh? Well, dat man don’ gib nobody nuffin’, let alone free lessons! He des tuk a gen’al chance on slippin’ in somep’n about somep’n whut mought happen—an’, again, mought not; but if’n it did, he’d hab his han’s on dat propitty. Nuffin venture—nuffin gain!”

      Since Elsa discomfitedly did not reply, Aunt Linda went on.

      “Well whut you do w’en you fin’ dat? Fo’ dat papah, Chil’, wuz a real-’state papah—an’ he done suttinly put it ob recohd?” Elsa nodded. “Whut you do—den? Aftah he gib you dat run-aroun’? You see a lawin’ man?”

      “Yes, Aunt. The best in the city. Rutgers Allstyn. And he pointed out to me how badly I’d clouded my title to my property. If, that is, I tried to sue to set the paper aside. For don’t forget, Aunt, I was of age when I signed it—and I declared, moreover, before witnesses, that I’d read it! But Mr. Allstyn didn’t bow me out, Aunt, as your lawyers did—in the long ago. Yes—in the face of your ‘claimquit’! No. He showed me the exact way to completely circumvent Uncle Silas’ trickery—assuming it to be plainly that—and to force the paper to remain just what it was: an assignment, and nothing more.”

      “He did? Whut wuz his way?”

      “Well, his way, Aunt, was simply to render that dangerous clause impotent. To—to hamstring it, see?

      Through my taking one case—and one case only—and one, moreover, in which it would be all set for my client to be acquitted—during my first three months of practice.

      In that way I would not only completely nullify the factor involving the loss of my first case, by winning it!—but through not going before the Bar before or after—at least till my first 3 months of practice were over—I would not run any chance whatsoever of disbarment. And—but Aunt, do you follow me?”

      Aunt Linda was figuring mentally, her brow creased into black wrinkles, her lips slightly moving, and counting some points of logic on several black fingers of her left hand.

      “Yas, I sees de p’ints a’right. On’y, Elsa, Ah don’ see how you would gonna know, ahead ob tryin’ a case, dat you’ clien’ would be gonna win. Leas’ways, Elsa, wid no hund’ed thousum dollah assuh’ance whut you’d hafta have!”

      “Well simply this, Aunt. Mr. Rutgers Allstyn’s cousin, who grew up with him virtually as a brother, is Judge Douglas Allstyn of the Criminal Court. And Mr. Rutgers Allstyn went with me, to his cousin—this was six years ago—and described the ticklish situation. And Judge Douglas Allstyn promised us that he would definitely assign to me a case, right after I graduated from school, in which—through considera­tion ahead of the time he was to render decision—he had definitely determined, on some technicality or other, to dis­charge the defendant. Some purely formal case, see? And by my taking that case—and technically winning it!—most of that vicious clause would be knocked out. You grasp that, do you, Aunt Linda?”

      “Yas, Ah grasps it,” Aunt Linda nodded sagely. “Right by de tail, yas. An’ dat wuz a good way to git aroun’ de p’oblem. But yit you is heah, Elsa, ’cause day is somep’n wrong ’bout yo’ affairs. An’ ’bout dat vehy affair. All ob w’ich means dat dat judge gib you de wrong case—o’ some p’n?”

      “No, Aunt. He wouldn’t do that. He even assured me so late as last June that he would take care of me all right. But, when I got out of school in September—and set up my office—he was in India, on a trip around the world. And not expected back till December. Which meant that I must just play safe and mark time, see, till he returned. So far as, I mean, taking any court cases.”

      “Den how come, Honey, you is in trubble? W’y you don’ continue on mahkin’ time?”

      “Because, Aunt Linda, a little while ago—just before I started over here—a judge of the Criminal Court called me up, and appointed me as defense counsel in a Criminal Court case—where the defendant has asked for immediate trial. For trial tonight, in short. I was quite frantic, for as it looked to me, from the judge’s words, the defendant’s chances were slim indeed. I—I almost had words with the judge. And he got very angry, Aunt, and told me that if I didn’t report to my client by 5 o’clock—I was disbarred. And—wait, that’s not all, Aunt!—he said that even though I did report to the client, the disbarment order would be held open—and if I then didn’t report in court tonight—it would go through at once.”

      “Kin—kin he do dat?”

      “By the new regulations, he can.”

      “Hm? Well whut you do, den? Ah ’spose you got aholt ob dis Allstyn man quick?”

      “I rang him, Aunt—yes. But he had just left Chicago. In his car. On a secret mission. Giving no one his whereabouts or his destination.”

      “Hm r’ Den—whut? You called dis jedge back, mebbe?”

      “I tried to—yes. But got only his man. And when I asked for the judge himself, his man said he’d gone out for a walk. To be gone till after 7 o’clock tonight.”

      “Hm. Did he say whah you could cotch him?”

      “Why, Aunt—this Judge couldn’t go for a walk! He has arthri—that is rheumatism in one knee, and gout in one foot. He simply won’t see me, that’s all; and is determined to put that disbarment order through if I don’t comply with his demands.”

      “Hm? Da’s a complication a’right. Consid’an’ dat clause. An’—but if’n you wuz disbahhed now, Honey, cu’d you an’ways git ondisbahhed?”

      “Undisbarred, Aunt? No! Only reinstated. There’s no such thing as undisbarment. If you’re disbarred—you’re dis­barred.”

      “Ah see. An’ he gonna do dis if’n you don’ repoht to yo’ clien’ by 5 o’clock?”

      “So he said—angrily—positively—almost apoplectically.”

      “Hm. An’ dis beah client, he’s guilty, eh?”

      “Doubtlessly, Aunt, as I have the best reason in the world to believe—based on later information I’ve gotten.”

      Aunt Linda pondered troubledly.

      “But Ah wondah w’y dat jedge he so hell-set to p’int des a kid lak you?”

      “Why, I presume, Aunt, he was going over the roster of new attorneys appointed to the Bar, and—”

      “No, he wuz’n,” insisted Aunt Linda. “Dey’s somep’n undah dat! Whut dis jedge’s name?”

      “Judge Penworth, Aunt Linda.”

      “Jedge—Penwu’th?” СКАЧАТЬ