The Wrong Box

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  CHAPTER XV. The Return of the Great Vance

  Morris returned from Waterloo in a frame of mind that bafflesdescription. He was a modest man; he had never conceived an overweeningnotion of his own powers; he knew himself unfit to write a book, turn atable napkin-ring, entertain a Christmas party with legerdemain--grapple(in short) any of those conspicuous accomplishments that are usuallyclassed under the head of genius. He knew--he admitted--his parts to bepedestrian, but he had considered them (until quite lately) fully equalto the demands of life. And today he owned himself defeated: life hadthe upper hand; if there had been any means of flight or place to fleeto, if the world had been so ordered that a man could leave it like aplace of entertainment, Morris would have instantly resigned all furtherclaim on its rewards and pleasures, and, with inexpressible contentment,ceased to be. As it was, one aim shone before him: he could get home.Even as the sick dog crawls under the sofa, Morris could shut the doorof John Street and be alone.

  The dusk was falling when he drew near this place of refuge; and thefirst thing that met his eyes was the figure of a man upon the step,alternately plucking at the bell-handle and pounding on the panels. Theman had no hat, his clothes were hideous with filth, he had the air of ahop-picker. Yet Morris knew him; it was John.

  The first impulse of flight was succeeded, in the elder brother'sbosom, by the empty quiescence of despair. 'What does it matter now?' hethought, and drawing forth his latchkey ascended the steps.

  John turned about; his face was ghastly with weariness and dirt andfury; and as he recognized the head of his family, he drew in a longrasping breath, and his eyes glittered.

  'Open that door,' he said, standing back.

  'I am going to,' said Morris, and added mentally, 'He looks likemurder!'

  The brothers passed into the hall, the door closed behind them; andsuddenly John seized Morris by the shoulders and shook him as a terriershakes a rat. 'You mangy little cad,' he said, 'I'd serve you right tosmash your skull!' And shook him again, so that his teeth rattled andhis head smote upon the wall.

  'Don't be violent, Johnny,' said Morris. 'It can't do any good now.'

  'Shut your mouth,' said John, 'your time's come to listen.'

  He strode into the dining-room, fell into the easy-chair, and taking offone of his burst walking-shoes, nursed for a while his foot like one inagony. 'I'm lame for life,' he said. 'What is there for dinner?'

  'Nothing, Johnny,' said Morris.

  'Nothing? What do you mean by that?' enquired the Great Vance. 'Don'tset up your chat to me!'

  'I mean simply nothing,' said his brother. 'I have nothing to eat, andnothing to buy it with. I've only had a cup of tea and a sandwich allthis day myself.'

  'Only a sandwich?' sneered Vance. 'I suppose YOU'RE going to complainnext. But you had better take care: I've had all I mean to take; andI can tell you what it is, I mean to dine and to dine well. Take yoursignets and sell them.'

  'I can't today,' objected Morris; 'it's Sunday.'

  'I tell you I'm going to dine!' cried the younger brother.

  'But if it's not possible, Johnny?' pleaded the other.

  'You nincompoop!' cried Vance. 'Ain't we householders? Don't they knowus at that hotel where Uncle Parker used to come. Be off with you; andif you ain't back in half an hour, and if the dinner ain't good, firstI'll lick you till you don't want to breathe, and then I'll go straightto the police and blow the gaff. Do you understand that, MorrisFinsbury? Because if you do, you had better jump.'

  The idea smiled even upon the wretched Morris, who was sick with famine.He sped upon his errand, and returned to find John still nursing hisfoot in the armchair.

  'What would you like to drink, Johnny?' he enquired soothingly.

  'Fizz,' said John. 'Some of the poppy stuff from the end bin; a bottleof the old port that Michael liked, to follow; and see and don't shakethe port. And look here, light the fire--and the gas, and draw down theblinds; it's cold and it's getting dark. And then you can lay the cloth.And, I say--here, you! bring me down some clothes.'

  The room looked comparatively habitable by the time the dinner came; andthe dinner itself was good: strong gravy soup, fillets of sole, muttonchops and tomato sauce, roast beef done rare with roast potatoes,cabinet pudding, a piece of Chester cheese, and some early celery: ameal uncompromisingly British, but supporting.

  'Thank God!' said John, his nostrils sniffing wide, surprised by joyinto the unwonted formality of grace. 'Now I'm going to take this chairwith my back to the fire--there's been a strong frost these two lastnights, and I can't get it out of my bones; the celery will be just theticket--I'm going to sit here, and you are going to stand there, MorrisFinsbury, and play butler.'

  'But, Johnny, I'm so hungry myself,' pleaded Morris.

  'You can have what I leave,' said Vance. 'You're just beginning topay your score, my daisy; I owe you one-pound-ten; don't you rouse theBritish lion!' There was something indescribably menacing in the faceand voice of the Great Vance as he uttered these words, at which thesoul of Morris withered. 'There!' resumed the feaster, 'give us a glassof the fizz to start with. Gravy soup! And I thought I didn't like gravysoup! Do you know how I got here?' he asked, with another explosion ofwrath.

  'No, Johnny; how could I?' said the obsequious Morris.

  'I walked on my ten toes!' cried John; 'tramped the whole way fromBrowndean; and begged! I would like to see you beg. It's not so easyas you might suppose. I played it on being a shipwrecked mariner fromBlyth; I don't know where Blyth is, do you? but I thought it soundednatural. I begged from a little beast of a schoolboy, and he forked outa bit of twine, and asked me to make a clove hitch; I did, too, I know Idid, but he said it wasn't, he said it was a granny's knot, and I was awhat-d'ye-call-'em, and he would give me in charge. Then I begged froma naval officer--he never bothered me with knots, but he only gave mea tract; there's a nice account of the British navy!--and then from awidow woman that sold lollipops, and I got a hunch of bread from her.Another party I fell in with said you could generally always get bread;and the thing to do was to break a plateglass window and get into gaol;seemed rather a brilliant scheme. Pass the beef.'

  'Why didn't you stay at Browndean?' Morris ventured to enquire.

  'Skittles!' said John. 'On what? The Pink Un and a measly religiouspaper? I had to leave Browndean; I had to, I tell you. I got tick ata public, and set up to be the Great Vance; so would you, if you wereleading such a beastly existence! And a card stood me a lot of ale andstuff, and we got swipey, talking about music-halls and the piles of tinI got for singing; and then they got me on to sing "Around her splendidform I weaved the magic circle," and then he said I couldn't be Vance,and I stuck to it like grim death I was. It was rot of me to sing, ofcourse, but I thought I could brazen it out with a set of yokels. Itsettled my hash at the public,' said John, with a sigh. 'And then thelast thing was the carpenter--'

  'Our landlord?' enquired Morris.

  'That's the party,' said John. 'He came nosing about the place, and thenwanted to know where the water-butt was, and the bedclothes. I told himto go to the devil; so would you too, when there was no possible thingto say! And then he said I had pawned them, and did I know it wasfelony? Then I made a pretty neat stroke. I remembered he was deaf, andtalked a whole lot of rot, very politely, just so low he couldn't heara word. "I don't hear you," says he. "I know you don't, my buck, and Idon't mean you to," says I, smiling away like a haberdasher. "I'm hardof hearing," he roars. "I'd be in a pretty hot corner if you weren't,"says I, making signs as if I was explaining everything. It was tip-topas long as it lasted. "Well," he said, "I'm deaf, worse luck, but Ibet the constable can hear you." And off he started one way, and I theother. They got a spirit-lamp and the Pink Un, and that old religiouspaper, and another periodical you sent me. I think you must have beendrunk--it had a name like one of those spots that Uncle Joseph used tohold forth at, and it was all full of the most awful swipes about poetryand the use of the globes. It was the kind of thing that nobody
couldread out of a lunatic asylum. The Athaeneum, that was the name! Golly,what a paper!'

  'Athenaeum, you mean,' said Morris.

  'I don't care what you call it,' said John, 'so as I don't require totake it in! There, I feel better. Now I'm going to sit by the fire inthe easy-chair; pass me the cheese, and the celery, and the bottle ofport--no, a champagne glass, it holds more. And now you can pitch in;there's some of the fish left and a chop, and some fizz. Ah,' sighed therefreshed pedestrian, 'Michael was right about that port; there's oldand vatted for you! Michael's a man I like; he's clever and reads books,and the Athaeneum, and all that; but he's not dreary to meet, he don'ttalk Athaeneum like the other parties; why, the most of them would throwa blight over a skittle alley! Talking of Michael, I ain't bored myselfto put the question, because of course I knew it from the first. You'vemade a hash of it, eh?'

  'Michael made a hash of it,' said Morris, flushing dark.

  'What have we got to do with that?' enquired John.

  'He has lost the body, that's what we have to do with it,' cried Morris.'He has lost the body, and the death can't be established.'

  'Hold on,' said John. 'I thought you didn't want to?'

  'O, we're far past that,' said his brother. 'It's not the tontine now,it's the leather business, Johnny; it's the clothes upon our back.'

  'Stow the slow music,' said John, 'and tell your story from beginning toend.' Morris did as he was bid.

  'Well, now, what did I tell you?' cried the Great Vance, when the otherhad done. 'But I know one thing: I'm not going to be humbugged out of myproperty.'

  'I should like to know what you mean to do,' said Morris.

  'I'll tell you that,' responded John with extreme decision. 'I'm goingto put my interests in the hands of the smartest lawyer in London; andwhether you go to quod or not is a matter of indifference to me.'

  'Why, Johnny, we're in the same boat!' expostulated Morris.

  'Are we?' cried his brother. 'I bet we're not! Have I committed forgery?have I lied about Uncle Joseph? have I put idiotic advertisements in thecomic papers? have I smashed other people's statues? I like your cheek,Morris Finsbury. No, I've let you run my affairs too long; now theyshall go to Michael. I like Michael, anyway; and it's time I understoodmy situation.'

  At this moment the brethren were interrupted by a ring at the bell,and Morris, going timorously to the door, received from the hands of acommissionaire a letter addressed in the hand of Michael. Its contentsran as follows:

  MORRIS FINSBURY, if this should meet the eye of, he will hear ofSOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE at my office, in Chancery Lane, at 10 A.M.tomorrow.

  MICHAEL FINSBURY

  So utter was Morris's subjection that he did not wait to be asked, buthanded the note to John as soon as he had glanced at it himself.

  'That's the way to write a letter,' cried John. 'Nobody but Michaelcould have written that.'

  And Morris did not even claim the credit of priority.

  CHAPTER XVI. Final Adjustment of the Leather Business

  Finsbury brothers were ushered, at ten the next morning, into a largeapartment in Michael's office; the Great Vance, somewhat restored fromyesterday's exhaustion, but with one foot in a slipper; Morris, notpositively damaged, but a man ten years older than he who had leftBournemouth eight days before, his face ploughed full of anxiouswrinkles, his dark hair liberally grizzled at the temples.

  Three persons were seated at a table to receive them: Michael inthe midst, Gideon Forsyth on his right hand, on his left an ancientgentleman with spectacles and silver hair. 'By Jingo, it's Uncle Joe!'cried John.

  But Morris approached his uncle with a pale countenance and glitteringeyes.

  'I'll tell you what you did!' he cried. 'You absconded!'

  'Good morning, Morris Finsbury,' returned Joseph, with no less asperity;'you are looking seriously ill.'

  'No use making trouble now,' remarked Michael. 'Look the facts in theface. Your uncle, as you see, was not so much as shaken in the accident;a man of your humane disposition ought to be delighted.'

  'Then, if that's so,' Morris broke forth, 'how about the body? You don'tmean to insinuate that thing I schemed and sweated for, and colportedwith my own hands, was the body of a total stranger?'

  'O no, we can't go as far as that,' said Michael soothingly; 'you mayhave met him at the club.'

  Morris fell into a chair. 'I would have found it out if it had come tothe house,' he complained. 'And why didn't it? why did it go to Pitman?what right had Pitman to open it?'

  'If you come to that, Morris, what have you done with the colossalHercules?' asked Michael.

  'He went through it with the meat-axe,' said John. 'It's all inspillikins in the back garden.'

  'Well, there's one thing,' snapped Morris; 'there's my uncle again, myfraudulent trustee. He's mine, anyway. And the tontine too. I claim thetontine; I claim it now. I believe Uncle Masterman's dead.'

  'I must put a stop to this nonsense,' said Michael, 'and that for ever.You say too near the truth. In one sense your uncle is dead, and hasbeen so long; but not in the sense of the tontine, which it is even onthe cards he may yet live to win. Uncle Joseph saw him this morning; hewill tell you he still lives, but his mind is in abeyance.'

  'He did not know me,' said Joseph; to do him justice, not withoutemotion.

  'So you're out again there, Morris,' said John. 'My eye! what a foolyou've made of yourself!'

  'And that was why you wouldn't compromise,' said Morris.

  'As for the absurd position in which you and Uncle Joseph have beenmaking yourselves an exhibition,' resumed Michael, 'it is more than timeit came to an end. I have prepared a proper discharge in full, which youshall sign as a preliminary.'

  'What?' cried Morris, 'and lose my seven thousand eight hundred pounds,and the leather business, and the contingent interest, and get nothing?Thank you.'

  'It's like you to feel gratitude, Morris,' began Michael.

  'O, I know it's no good appealing to you, you sneering devil!' criedMorris. 'But there's a stranger present, I can't think why, and I appealto him. I was robbed of that money when I was an orphan, a mere child,at a commercial academy. Since then, I've never had a wish but to getback my own. You may hear a lot of stuff about me; and there's no doubtat times I have been ill-advised. But it's the pathos of my situation;that's what I want to show you.'

  'Morris,' interrupted Michael, 'I do wish you would let me add onepoint, for I think it will affect your judgement. It's pathetic toosince that's your taste in literature.'

  'Well, what is it?' said Morris.

  'It's only the name of one of the persons who's to witness yoursignature, Morris,' replied Michael. 'His name's Moss, my dear.'

  There was a long silence. 'I might have been sure it was you!' criedMorris.

  'You'll sign, won't you?' said Michael.

  'Do you know what you're doing?' cried Morris. 'You're compounding afelony.'

  'Very well, then, we won't compound it, Morris,' returned Michael. 'Seehow little I understood the sterling integrity of your character! Ithought you would prefer it so.'

  'Look here, Michael,' said John, 'this is all very fine and large; buthow about me? Morris is gone up, I see that; but I'm not. And I wasrobbed, too, mind you; and just as much an orphan, and at the blessedsame academy as himself.'

  'Johnny,' said Michael, 'don't you think you'd better leave it to me?'

  'I'm your man,' said John. 'You wouldn't deceive a poor orphan, I'lltake my oath. Morris, you sign that document, or I'll start in andastonish your weak mind.'

  With a sudden alacrity, Morris proffered his willingness. Clerks werebrought in, the discharge was executed, and there was Joseph a free manonce more.

  'And now,' said Michael, 'hear what I propose to do. Here, Johnand Morris, is the leather business made over to the pair of you inpartnership. I have valued it at the lowest possible figure, Pogram andJarris's. And here is a cheque for the balance of your fortune. Now, yousee, Morris, you start fresh from
the commercial academy; and, as yousaid yourself the leather business was looking up, I suppose you'llprobably marry before long. Here's your marriage present--from a MrMoss.'

  Morris bounded on his cheque with a crimsoned countenance.

  'I don't understand the performance,' remarked John. 'It seems too goodto be true.'

  'It's simply a readjustment,' Michael explained. 'I take up UncleJoseph's liabilities; and if he gets the tontine, it's to be mine; ifmy father gets it, it's mine anyway, you see. So that I'm ratheradvantageously placed.'

  'Morris, my unconverted friend, you've got left,' was John's comment.

  'And now, Mr Forsyth,' resumed Michael, turning to his silent guest,'here are all the criminals before you, except Pitman. I really didn'tlike to interrupt his scholastic career; but you can have him arrestedat the seminary--I know his hours. Here we are then; we're not pretty tolook at: what do you propose to do with us?'

  'Nothing in the world, Mr Finsbury,' returned Gideon. 'I seem tounderstand that this gentleman'---indicating Morris--'is the fons etorigo of the trouble; and, from what I gather, he has already paidthrough the nose. And really, to be quite frank, I do not see who is togain by any scandal; not me, at least. And besides, I have to thank youfor that brief.'

  Michael blushed. 'It was the least I could do to let you have somebusiness,' he said. 'But there's one thing more. I don't want you tomisjudge poor Pitman, who is the most harmless being upon earth. Iwish you would dine with me tonight, and see the creature on his nativeheath--say at Verrey's?'

  'I have no engagement, Mr Finsbury,' replied Gideon. 'I shall bedelighted. But subject to your judgement, can we do nothing for the manin the cart? I have qualms of conscience.'

  'Nothing but sympathize,' said Michael.