“THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER” INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS.

“Cobbler” Horn reached London early the same evening, and the following morning, at the appointed hour, duly presented himself at the office of Messrs. Tongs and Ball. He was received with enthusiasm by the men of law. Long Mr. Ball was, as usual, the chief speaker; and round Mr. Tongs yielded meek and monosyllabic assent to all his partner’s words.

“And how are you by this time, my dear sir?” asked Mr. Ball, almost affectionately, when they had taken their seats.

“Cobbler” Horn had a vague impression that the lawyer was asking his question on behalf of his partner as well as of himself.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” was his cordial reply. “I am thankful to say I never was better in my life; and I hope I find you the same?”

“Thank you, my dear sir,” answered Mr. Ball, “speaking for self and partner, I think I may say that we are well.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Tongs.

“But,” resumed Mr. Ball, turning to the table, “your time is precious, Mr. Horn. Shall we proceed?”

“If you please, gentlemen.”

“Very well,” said the lawyer, taking up a bundle of papers; “these are the letters relating to the case of your unfortunate cousin. Shall I give you their contents in due order, Mr. Horn?”

“If you please,” and “Cobbler” Horn composed himself to listen, with a grave face.

The letters were from the agents of Messrs. Tongs and Ball in New York; and the information they conveyed was to the effect that “Cobbler” Horn’s scapegrace cousin had been traced to a poor lodging-house in that city, where he was slowly dying of consumption. He might last for months, but it was possible he would not linger more than a few weeks.

“Cobbler” Horn listened to the reading of the letters with head down-bent. When it was finished, he looked up.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said; “have you done anything?”

Mr. Ball gazed at his client through his spectacles, over the top of the last of the letters, which he still held open in his hand, and there was gentle expostulation in his eye.

“Our instructions, Mr. Horn, were to find your cousin.”

“I see,” said “Cobbler” Horn, with a smile; “and you have done that. Well now, gentlemen, will you be kind enough to do something more?”

“We will attend to your commands, Mr. Horn,” was the deferential response. “That is our business.”

“Yes,” was the emphatic assent of Mr. Tongs.

“The Golden Shoemaker” was becoming accustomed to the readiness of all with whom he had to do to wait upon his will.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I wish everything to be done to relieve my poor cousin’s distress, and even, if possible, to save his life. Be good enough to telegraph directions for him to be removed without delay to some place where he will receive the best care that money can procure. If his life cannot be saved, he may at least be kept alive till I can reach his bedside.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed, sir,” said Mr. Ball; “but,” he added with much surprise, “is it necessary for you to go to New York yourself?”

“That you must leave to me, gentlemen,” said “the Golden Shoemaker” in a tone which put an end to debate.

“Now, gentlemen,” he resumed, “kindly hand me those letters; and let me know how soon, after to-morrow, I can set out.”

“You don’t mean to lose any time, sir,” said Mr. Ball, handing the bundle of letters to his client.

In a few moments, the lawyers were able to supply the information that a berth could be secured in a first-class steamer which would leave Liverpool for New York in two days’ time; and it was arranged that a passage should be booked.

“We await your further orders, Mr. Horn,” said Mr. Ball, rubbing his hands together, as he perceived that his client still retained his seat.

“I’m afraid I detain you, gentlemen.”

“By no means, my dear sir,” protested Mr. Ball.

“No,” echoed Mr. Tongs.

“I am glad of that,” said “Cobbler” Horn. “I should be sorry to waste your valuable time.”

More than once a clerk had come to the door to announce that so-and-so or so-and-so, awaited the leisure of his employers; and, in every case, the answer had been, “let them wait.”

The time of Messrs. Tongs and Ball was indeed valuable, and no portion of it was likely to prove more so than that bestowed on the affairs of “Cobbler” Horn.

Both the lawyers smiled amiably.

“You could not waste our time, Mr. Horn,” said Mr. Ball.

“No,” echoed Mr. Tongs.

“That’s very good of you, gentlemen. But at any rate I really have some business of the gravest importance still to discuss with you.”

“By all means, my dear sir,” said Mr. Ball with gusto, settling himself in an attitude of attention, while Mr. Tongs also prepared himself to listen.

“I wish, gentlemen,” announced “the Golden Shoemaker,” “to make my will.”

“To be sure,” said Mr. Ball.

“You see,” continued “Cobbler” Horn, “a journey to America is attended with some risk.”

“Precisely,” assented Mr. Ball. “And a man of your wealth, Mr. Horn, should not, in any case, postpone the making of his will. It was our intention to speak to you about the matter to-day.”

“To be sure,” said “Cobbler” Horn. “Can it be done at once?”

“Certainly,” responded the lawyer, drawing his chair to the table, and preparing, pen in hand, to receive the instructions of his client.

“You have no children, I think, Mr. Horn?”

“Cobbler” Horn’s cheeks blanched, and his lips quivered; but he instantly regained his self-control.

“That is my difficulty,” he said. “I had a child, but——”

“Ah!” interrupted Mr. Ball, “I understand. Very sad.”

“No, sir,” said “Cobbler” Horn sternly, “you do not understand. It is not as you think. But can I make my will in favour of a person who may, or may not, be alive?”

Mr. Ball was in no wise abashed.

“Do I take you, my dear sir? You——”

“The person,” interposed “Cobbler” Horn, “to whom I wish to leave my property is my little daughter, Marian, who wandered away twelve years ago, and has never been heard of since. Can I do it, gentlemen?”

“I think you can, Mr. Horn,” replied Mr. Ball. “In the absence of any proof of death, your daughter may be considered to be still alive. What do you say, Mr. Tongs?”

“Oh yes; to be sure; certainly,” exclaimed Mr. Tongs, who seemed to have been aroused from a reverie, and for whom it was enough that he was required to confirm some dictum of his partner.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Then please to note that I wish my property to pass, at my death, to my daughter, Marian Horn.”

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Ball, making a note on a sheet of paper. “But,” he added, with an enquiring glance towards his client, “in the event—that is to say, supposing your daughter were not to reappear, Mr. Horn?”

“I am coming to that,” was the calm reply. “If my daughter does not come back before my death, I wish everything to go to my sister, Jemima Horn, on the condition that she gives it up to my daughter when she does return.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Mr. Ball. “And may I ask, my dear sir?—If Miss Horn should die, say shortly after your own decease, what then?”

“I have thought of that too. Would it be in order, to appoint a trustee, to hold the property, in such a case, for my child?”

“Yes, quite in order. Have you the name ready, my dear sir?”

“I will give you that of Rev. George Durnford, of Cottonborough.”

“And, for how long, Mr. Horn,” asked Mr. Ball, when he had written down Mr. Durnford’s name and address, “must the property be thus held?”

“Till my daughter comes to claim it.”

“But, but, my dear sir——”

“Very well,” said “Cobbler” Horn, breaking in upon the lawyer’s incipient protest; “put it like this. Say that, in the event of my sister’s death, everything is to go into the hands of Mr. Durnford, to be held by him in trust for my daughter, and to be dealt with according to his own discretion.”

“That is all on that subject, gentlemen,” he added, in a tone of finality; and, having summarily dismissed one matter of business, he as summarily introduced another. “And now,” he said, “having made provision for my daughter in the event of my death, I wish also to provide for her in case she should come back during my life. I desire the sum of £50,000 to be set aside and invested in such a manner, that my daughter may have it—principal and interest—as her own private fortune during my life.”

Mr. Ball regarded his singular client with a doubtful look.

“Is it necessary to do that, my dear sir? With your wealth, you will be able, at any time, to do for your daughter what you please.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Tongs, who seemed to think it time to put in his word.

“Gentlemen,” said “Cobbler” Horn. “You must let me have my own way. It is my intention to turn my money to the best account, according to my light; and I wish to have the £50,000 secured to my child, lest, when she comes back, there should be nothing left for her.”

“Well, Mr. Horn, of course your wishes shall be obeyed,” said Mr. Ball, with a sigh; “but it is not an arrangement which I should advise.”

With this final protest the subject was dismissed; but, for many days, the £50,000 to be invested for the missing daughter of his eccentric client remained a burden on the mind of Mr. Ball.

“And now,” said “the Golden Shoemaker,” “there is just another thing before I go. I have been to see my village. I found it, as you warned me, in a sadly dilapidated condition; and I have desired Mr. Gray to make all the necessary repairs. Will you, gentlemen, give him all the help you can, and see that he doesn’t want for money?”

“We shall be delighted, my dear sir, as a matter of course.”

“Thank you: Mr. Gray will probably apply to you on various points; and I wish you to know that he has my authority for all he does.”

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Ball, in a respectful tone.

“Then, while I was at Daisy Lane, I paid a visit to the old Hall.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Ball, “a splendid family mansion, Mr. Horn?”

“Yes; I have desired Mr. Gray to have it renovated and furnished.”

“As a residence for yourself, of course?”

“No; I have other designs.”

Then, in the deeply-attentive ears of the two men of law, “the Golden Shoemaker” recited his plans with regard to the old Hall.

It would be a mild statement to say that Messrs. Tongs and Ball were taken by surprise; but their client afforded them slight opportunity to interpose even a comment on his scheme.

“You must help Mr. Gray in this matter especially, gentlemen, if you please. Do all you can for him. I want it to be the best ‘Children’s Home’ in the country. Don’t spare expense. I wish everything to be provided that is good for little children. My friend, Mr. Durnford will, perhaps, help me to find a ‘father and mother’ for the ‘Home;’ you, gentlemen, shall assist me in the engagement of skilful nurses and trustworthy servants. In order that we may make the place as nearly perfect as possible, I have requested Mr. Gray to visit similar institutions in various parts of the country. He will look to you for advice; and I should be obliged, gentlemen, if you would put him on the right track.”

Then he paused, and looked at his lawyers with a glowing face.

“It’s for the sake,” he said, and there was a catch in his voice, “of my little Marian, who went from me a wanderer upon the face of the earth.”

Then, having arranged to call in the morning, for the purpose of signing his will, previous to his departure from town, he took his leave.