Patrick Dunbar

Chapter I

Mahomet, on his way to the seventh heaven to commune with Allah, speaks of having met about midway in the ascent, say about the fourth or fifth heaven, an angel with seventy thousand heads, each head having seventy thousand mouths, each mouth seventy thousand tongues, each tongue speaking seventy thousand different languages ; and all praising Allah.

Now, barring any allusion to its habitat, or to its being an angel, or to its being in the habit of ever praising anybody, what in the world tallies with this description so well as a modern newspaper? God only knows how many heads a newspaper has, it is true; as any one will say who has ever tried to find a responsible one, either to sue or to break for an indiscretion of any kind. As to its mouths or its tongues, or its ability to speak all the languages in existence, to say nothing of the dead ones, Mahomet’s description, if anything, falls short of, rather than exceeds the truth, as applied to a newspaper.

Patrick Dunbar was seated in the coffee room of an old fashioned London hotel on the evening of the 24th of December, 1875, ministering to three of the principal requirements of modern life, at oner and the same time, to wit: he was smoking a cigar, imbibing at intervals a drop of Scotch and water and he was carelessly casting his eye over a copy of The Times newspaper. Suddenly his gaze became intently fixed upon the paper, as he read the following, under the heading of “Personal:”

Descendants or relatives of Patrick Dunbar, formerly of Cork, Ireland, who is supposed to have emigrated to America, in or about the year 1825, will hear something to their possible advantage by communicating with Messrs. Griggs & Dobson, Solicitors, 56 Theobald’s Road, London, W. C.

Now, as it happened, the Patrick Dunbar with whom we have to deal was a descendant of William Dunbar, who once had a brother Patrick, who may, or may not, have ever lived in Cork, or who may, or may not, have emigrated to America. For the rest, our young friend Dunbar — for he was young, twenty-five or thereabouts — had lost his father and had been turned out into the world early in life with a mother and two sisters to care for, who, however, had between them a small income of several hundred pounds a year.

Dunbar had up to this time so far succeeded in pushing his way in the path he had laid out for himself, or which, more properly speaking, destiny had laid out for him, as, at the time our story opens, to have risen to the dignity of a stock broker’s clerk in the City, with an emolument of some two hundred pounds a year. So, taking the things of this world as they go, the Dunbars were comfortably enough off to require no assistance or commiseration from us, or any one else. They lived at Putney, fairly well out in the country, in a small villa, standing in its own grounds; of which the ladies of the family were extremely proud, and which they kept in apple-pie order.

At the City end of the line Dunbar was to be found in the vicinity of Billiter Square in a modern, well-appointed building, as London offices go. His employers were Messrs. Strongwell & Co., stock brokers, promoters and general agents in the American trade. They also did a bit of discounting, apparently had means; and their Bankers, the London and Provincial Bank, were always ready to make answer to inquiries: “Highly respectable people. Have been with us for many years. Good for all engagements.” They also had an account with the Bank of England.

So far, so good; and now to explain how young Dunbar happened to be in the coffee-room of a hotel, on Christmas eve, rather than in the bosom of his family, as he should have been. Dunbar was ambitious. He had seen enough of the world to recognize the power the possession of wealth bestows upon a man. He was clever, industrious, even hard-headed, for a man of his years ; and he was beginning to rebel against the trammels of service. He wished above all things to be independent; to strike out for himself. Now, of all places in the world, London is the most difficult to strike out in successfully. It’s the principle of not going near the water until you know how to swim, over again. No body in London knows you are alive until your name has been in the Directory at least five years; but, if you’ve starved to death long before the five years come round, what earthly good does it do to have it there ? Then again, to do business in a rich town like London, one must have capital; and unless he has earned it in business how could he get it, and how can he have done business, when it took at least five years to find out that he was alive, and, in the meantime he has starved? And so on, ad captandum, et ad infinitum!

It is an incontrovertible fact, however, that people do get on in London. How they ever do it, God only knows; but they do. The five years that it requires to get a knowledge of your existence into the heads of any people whom it would do you the least good in the world to have it get into, come round at last, and, somehow, the fifth and last year generally finds one in a fair state of health, all things considered; and then you go on and on and become in time respectable, rich, great, and all the rest of it; as Dick Whittingdon and many others have done.

Now it had got into young Dunbar’s head that, possibly, he might save a part of his five years hibernation by beginning to form acquaintances and connections which would be valuable to him later in life, while still acting as clerk for Messrs. Strongwell & Co. But, as he was a perfectly right-minded young man, he recognized the fact that in business hours his time belonged to the firm who were paying for it, and not to himself. After four o’clock, when the office closed on week-days, and one o’clock on Saturdays, his time was his own, and instead of using it by returning home he had elected to devote it to meeting certain men of his acquaintance in the coffee-room of the hotel where we first discovered him a few pages back. Here they discussed business, or possible business, and consumed a moderate amount of whisky and tobacco at one and the same time. As Dunbar was no longer a boy, and as he was, both by nature and education, abstemious and refined, there was nothing to be feared from either the whisky or the company in which it was absorbed. He had passed at Harrow and at Oxford the period in a young man’s life when, if dissipation of any kind was to take hold upon him, it had already done so.

So, on the evening alluded to, Dunbar had, partly from the force of habit, and partly on the off chance of meeting some one of his friends, stopped at the Craven Hotel on his way west, and all unconsciously, and unexpectedly to himself, got put into this book by the accident of his eye having fallen upon the advertisement in the copy of The Times , aforesaid. So, there is the explanation of the matter; or, as the French would say, voila tout!

The more he thought the matter over, and the oftener he read the notice, the more firmly the young man became convinced that in some mysterious way the incident was to mark a very decided turn in his life. To show how well this assumption was grounded now becomes not only a duty, but a pleasure, on the part of the faithful historian of the Life and Adventures of Patrick Dunbar.

Deeply absorbed in his own thoughts, the hero of this story failed to observe that the door of the coffee-room now opened to admit a young man of about his own age, well appointed in every way, and with the springy but firm tread that only a long practice of out door sports imparts to the well-bred Englishman. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered, well-knit young fellow, with a clean shaven face, and with an expression on it, which, if genuine, denoted honesty, intelligence and simplicity, combined in about equal proportions.

“Hello, Dunbar,” he said, cheerily, taking a seat, and ringing the bell for the purpose of ordering some liquid refreshment. “What’s up? You seem to take as much interest in your paper as if it contained an obituary notice of an aunt who had just left you a fortune. I say, old man, if it’s anything good, don’t forget that we are partners, for you know the present state of my finances, and Christmas bills are coming in so fast that I am a jolly sight more comfortable in the coffee-room of this hotel than I am at my lodgings, just at present.”

“How did you happen to think of an obituary notice, Gow?” asked Dunbar, laying down his paper, and relighting his cigar. “Curiously enough, you’ve come pretty nigh hitting the nail on the head. Listen to this: The heirs of Patrick Dunbar, whom I have every reason to suppose was an uncle of mine, are advertised for. Do you happen to know anything of a firm of solicitors in Gray’s Inn, Griggs and Dobson?”

“Rather; they’re my solicitors.”

“The devil they are. Pretty respectable kind of people?”

“So so.”

“Tell me about them, will you?”

“Well, as the term goes, they’re respectable enough. They’ve been in that damned dull old office of theirs, in Theobald’s Road, just overlooking Gray’s Inn Yard, for God knows how long; I certainly don’t. They’ve got money, or their clients have, for they are always looking about for a chance to pick up a good thing. They do a lot in reversions, post obits, occasionally, and a devilish big business in bills of rather the dickey kind. They’ve got my name at this very time on a biggish lot of paper, both as drawer and acceptor ; much bigger, in fact, than I wish it were.”

“You should keep your name off bills, Gow, as I’ve often told you. It will get you into serious trouble some of these days if you don’t.”

“All very well for you to talk, old man, but look at the difference in our positions. You and your people have a certain fixed income, small, we’ll say, but sure. You’re a rising young man in a good City firm, with everything in your favor for a partnership some of these days, I dare say. Your wants are small and you’ve been brought up, well, no offence, of course, in a moderate kind of a way, so that its no trouble for you to live within your income.”

“While you?”

“While I’ve been damnedly badly brought up, I’m perfectly free to confess. My father always led me to suppose that I should be well provided for after his death, and, poor old dad, he had every reason to. But fate settled the matter differently. It’s a long story and I won’t tell it now; but, instead of being well-to-do in the world, I was left in the most unfortunate fix possible. With all the habits and tastes of a rich man, I’m a poor one; and, if there’s anything worse than that , why I, for one, don’t happen to know what it is.”

II

“Yes, old man, it is an unfortunate state of affairs, but then you have much upon your side, after all. You’ve lots of friends, a fairish allowance from your father’s estate, good credit at your Bankers, and a devilish sound head on your shoulders to judge of a good bargain when you see one. So, take it for all and all, you’re not so very much to be pitied, as far as I can see.”

“Very well, Pat, have it your own way. There’s no one in the world so badly off, I suppose, but that he might be worse; but, jack that up for the time being, and let’s look into this matter of yours. It sounds interesting. I haven’t the least doubt in the world that we could raise a few hundreds, possibly a few thousands, from Griggs and Dobson on your prospects. That would go a long way towards helping me over Christmas, and leave something for us to put into the business besides.”

“Upon my word, Gow, you are a cool hand to count my chickens before they’re hatched,” said Dunbar, laughing and picking up the paper to put it in his friend’s hands. “There’s the notice, read it for yourself.”

“Um,” said Gow, after having carefully read the advertisement. “Seems pretty clear, I should say. You are certainly Patrick Dunbar. You know whether you ever had an uncle or grandfather of the same name, and whether he lived at Cork, and went from there to the States. Even if you’re not prepared to prove every step in the line of succession, the presumptive evidence of your being the man they are looking for is so strong that, unless some one else turns up with a stronger claim than yours, which appears unlikely, you certainly ought to be able to establish your title.”

“I fear it will not be quite as clear sailing as you appear to think it,” said Dunbar, contemplatively. “You see, a lot of time has elapsed; fifty years. In a half a century many changes have occurred, many records have vanished entirely, or have been mislaid. I remember to have heard my father say on several occasions that his family had at some time lived in Ireland. Just in what part, I don’t know. Yon see, I suppose he was either a little ashamed of his Irish connections or he saw no good in bringing them to the fore. I remember, however, his having spoken of a brother Patrick. All the rest of my knowledge in the matter is rather hazy. Not the kind of evidence, I fear, upon which such knowing old cards as you picture Messieurs Griggs and Dobson to be would advance much money, if indeed, there is an estate coming either to me or some namesake of mine.”

“Pm not at all so sure of that, old man. These old style solicitors make money by handling money. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that, they being the custodians of the estate, couldn’t speculate with it; while, it is equally clear, that if it were in the hands of its proper owner, we’ll say yours, for the sake of argument, they both could and would, in all probability, have the management of it, and thus be in a position where they could pull in many a fat fee or commission from it. See?”

“Yes, that seems reasonable enough. But how am I to prove my claim? What have I to go by? Of course, my mother may be able to throw some light upon the ma,tter, but I fear not much. Now, old chap, put yourself in my place and advise me what to do ; how to open negotiations with Griggs and Dobson, to begin with. Of course, I shall ask you for a letter of introduction to them, which will help amazingly, as through it they will know with whom they have to deal. What is my next step?”

Gow was silent a few minutes, as if engaged in thinking the matter carefully over.

“Of course,” he said, finally, “it would be well for you to go to these foxy old lawyers armed with as much information as possible, in the first instance. Aren’t there any records, for instance, in Cork which it would be well for you to look up?”

“What records, will you be good enough to tell me, are likely to exist of the fact of a poor young man having emigrated to America from Ireland fifty years ago ? Why, man, millions have emigrated since then, and how many of these millions, think you, have left any trace or record whatever of their former lives, either before they left the old country or after they had arrived in the new ? I might much better go to America, and begin my inquiries there , it appears to me, rather than in Ireland; but even that is a wild goose chase.”

“It occurs to me, Pat, that something might be done by shifting the burden of proof from your shoulders on to those of Griggs and Dobson. Why not go to these men assuming the position that you are the man they are looking for, which you can do with a good conscience, as you certainly believe yourself to be the man, and put them to the proof that you are not. In the absence of any one to contest your title, and with the undoubted respectability of your connection, it seems to me your claim would be a very strong one and one very difficult to disprove. It’s worth trying at any rate, and possibly Griggs and Co. may put you in the way of obtaining some information which, putting it together with what you already have, would be of great assistance to you.”

“Not at all a bad idea, old man, and Pll follow your suggestion. First of all, Pll get all the facts I can from my mother; then Pll ask you for your letter, and then Pll beard these lions in their den and see what they have to say for themselves. So, sit down and write me a line to these people, or send me one from your lodgings so I may have it within, say a week. We’ll give Griggs & Co. a few days to get over their Christmas in, and then I’ll go and look them up.”

“And, instead of giving you. a letter, Dunbar, 111 go with you myself. Fm sure I can say many things viva voce which I could not say in a letter. So, name your date for the visit, and 111 meet you, and well go together.”

“Thanks, Gow; I think myself that is the better way. Say next Thursday, at eleven o’clock. I will ask my people in the City for an hour or two’s leave of absence and we’ll see what there is in this matter.”

The two young men then lapsed into a general discussion of their affairs and soon separated, each going in the direction of their respective homes. Dunbar took the underground at Charing Cross Station for Putney; Gow leisurely sauntered up Cockspur Street and the Haymarket to Piccadilly, apparently deeply lost in thought. The fog of a winter’s night in London was thickening up as it is likely to do when some six million of people are preparing their evening meals. Gow passed Piccadilly Circus with its blaze of light struggling through the fog, its bustle and confusion, its painted women, its hurrying crowds of Christmas shoppers, its jumble of busses and cabs, its well trained policemen doing their very best to regulate the traffic, and succeeding about as well as could be expected under the circumstances. His road lay through Piccadilly to Dover Street, where he had his lodgings. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike him. He stopped, and looking at his watch by the aid of an electric light, he said half audibly: “Six-thirty. Post Office, Waterloo Place, open till seven. Just time enough to send a wire.”

He turned sharply in his tracks, and setting his face in the direction from which he had just come, soon found himself in the Branch Post Office in Waterloo Place. Half an hour afterwards a message was delivered at Chiselhurst, to one Samuel Dobson, Solicitor, of Gray’s Inn, which ran as follows :

*5

“Very important for me to see you at once. Wire me my lodgings, Dover street, when and where.” S. Gow.

This done, the young man resumed his walk to his home, where, presumably, he found his dinner waiting for him.

Dunbar arrived at Putney Bridge in due time, and, finding the fog rather thick, took a cab to his home, where he found his mother and sisters expecting his arrival, and his dinner waiting. After the discussion of the meal by the family, he had a smoke ; and then, managing to get his mother by herself, asked: “M other, what can you tell me about my father’s relatives. Wasn’t there an uncle Patrick who lived in Cork, or somewhere in Ireland, and who went to America many years ago?”

“I have always supposed so, my son. Why do you ask ?”

Dunbar had purchased a copy of The Times at the book stall of the underground, and now, pointing to the notice, requested his mother to read it. When she had done so, he asked her what she thought of it.

“Well Padsey, if you really want to know, I don’t think the notice applies to us.”

“Will you tell me why?”

“Well, in the first place, it’s too good to be true. No such luck as an inheritance has ever befallen our family. Then, the Dunbars, although always highly respectable, have never been more than fairly well off. Your poor father enjoyed a comfortable income for the greater part of his life and was able to bring his children up as ladies and gentlemen; but, at his death, to leave his family only fairly well provided for. If he had expectations of any kind I feel sure he would have spoken to me of them, as one of his chief sorrows was the slender provision he was able to make for us. He never took into consideration the fact that he had spent a very large part of the means he might have left his family in the education of yourself i6 and your sisters. Now, as to his relatives, he rarely spoke of them. I am inclined to think that when they lived in Ireland they were rather poor. Also, I have an impression that his brother Patrick was something of a mauvais sujet. At any rate, what became of him, I really never knew ; and I feel quite sure your father did not.”

“You don’t know where they lived in Ireland?”

“No, not absolutely; but my impression is it was near Cork.”

“Well, mother, as far as our information goes, I must say it tallies pretty well with the particulars given of Patrick Dunbar in this notice. ‘Lived at Cork. Supposed to have emigrated to America in or about the year 1825/ ”

“Yes, my son, but that is very little to go on in claiming an estate, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I hope to get more.”

“Padsey, my dear boy, we have enough to live upon. You are doing well and are in a fair way to do better. In order to prove your claim to an inheritance, with the very slender knowledge you have of your father’s relations, it seems to me a very large sum would have to be spent in lawyers’ fees and in investigating this matter, generally. Wouldn’t it be wiser to let well enough alone?”

“Mother, something tells me this notice refers to us, and that it would be a fatal error on our part to allow it to pass unnoticed. In fact, I have already gone so far as to make an appointment to call upon the solicitors whose names appear at the bottom of the advertisement, and I can’t very well break it, even if I were so disposed, which I am frank enough to say I am not.”

“Well, my boy, you are the head of the family, and I won’t stand in the way of your doing as you see fit in the matter. But don’t, I beseech you, do anything to involve us in litigation or in expense of any kind, for I feel sure you will regret it.”

1 7

“I will bear what you say in mind, mother, you may rest assured of that; both on your account and my own.”

The young women now began to show signs of interest in the rather extended conversation between Patrick and his mother, and, as in the present status of affairs it was as well to excite no more hopes, possibly, probably, doomed to disappointment, than was necessary, the conversation was changed. That evening, however, after the rest of the family had retired for the night, young Dunbar took from his secretary a bundle of old papers which had belonged to his father during his lifetime and began a thorough examination of them. At first there was little to reward his search, but finally he came upon some letters bearing date of about 1845 to 1850 in which he noticed the name of his uncle mentioned at rare intervals, but then only casually, and in a manner to throw but little light upon the subject he had set his mind to investigate.

He was about to give over the search for the present, when his eye fell upon the signature of Patrick Dunbar at the end of a letter. As in all the letters and papers so far Patrick Dunbar had been referred to in the third person, the change to the first attracted his attention. It proved to be a letter dated New York, 1842. It was yellow and musty with age and seemed to have been left carelessly in a bundle of apparently unimportant letters to be forgotten. It ran as follows:

Dear Brother William: —

Luck has been against me again, and I’ve been compelled to draw upon you for £100. Of course you’ll remind me of my promise never to draw upon you again; that, and to let the liquor alone. I’ve done the best I could, but somehow I can’t help myself. I can’t refuse to play when asked by certain people here without losing caste; and, as they all drink, I drink too. The only difference seems to be that I get drunk and lose both my head and my money, while they keep both. Of course you can i8 refuse to honor this draft; but, as I’ve had the money on it, if it comes back dishonored I shall be placed in a very unfortunate position. They have a disagreeable way of hanging people here who don’t pay their debts. In any case I should be compelled to leave town, and just as luck seems to be coming my way. Through Murphy, whom I’ve told you about, I’ve been let into some good speculations in land in this rapidly growing town. Of course, with my damnable luck I may never realize a dollar; but then my luck may turn. In order to secure you for all the moneys you have already advanced me, and this last hundred pounds, which I feel sure you will not refuse, I have made a will, which you will find on the page annexed to this letter, making you my sole legatee, in fact, my sole heir; as at present I have no near relatives but you. This will, though brief and somewhat informal, being drawn by myself, has been passed upon by a lawyer here, by name Donahue, who says it will hold water under the American laws. As I have nothing but debts to leave you at present, this document may appear to you as worth just about the paper it is written upon. But this is the country and the period for long chances, and who knows but that I may turn out a millionaire in the end?

Your affectionate brother,

Patrick Dunbar.

Upon the back of this letter, as stated, was a will, in the same handwriting as the body of the letter, short and to the point, and informally drawn, as might be expected to be the case, when a man not a lawyer, was making his will, leaving “unto his dearly beloved brother William, of — near Cork, Ireland, each and every property of which he was seized or possessed, in consideration of moneys advanced to him at various times, his love and affection for said William Dunbar, and as some atonement for the trouble and anxiety he had caused the said William Dunbar by reason of his wild and intemperate life.” The document was apparently in perfect order, and properly attested, as far as Dunbar could judge of such a matter.

Chapter II

Just as Gow was leaving his lodgings in Dover Street on Christmas morning, a telegraphic message was handed him which read as follows :

“Tuesday, my office, eleven o’clock.”

Dobson.

Christmas was not an agreeable day to Gow, this year. Besides the very marked contrasts it offered to former Christmases, which had been spent at his father’s home in the country amidst scenes of great festivity and rejoicing, he had come to an epoch in his financial affairs which gave him the greatest possible uneasiness. It is one thing to exceed one’s income; but that is a matter of adjustment. You overspend one year; you underspend the next, and the equilibrium is restored. But, with Gow, it was a different matter altogether : He had not only overspent his income to a degree far past any possible readjustment, but he had involved himself, by dabbling in bills, to an extent which meant absolute ruin, unless the unexpected happened; and relief came from the most unexpected quarter. Dunbar had alluded to the fact of his, Gow^s, credit being good at his Bankers. Gow, as the result of a good introduction, had managed to make a very good impression upon the manager of one of the west end branches of the London and Western Bank. Mr. Brown, the manager, lately promoted and anxious for business, had found in Gow an active and energetic ally in bringing in accounts of well-to-do young men, like himself, who could always be relied upon to keep at least a thousand or two to their credit, and not to demand much accommodation. Unlike these young men, however, Gow did demand accommodation ; and, demanding it from the standpoint of a first-class introduction, which, in fact, almost amounted to a guaranty, and, as a return for the large business he had brought, he was particularly hard to refuse.