The Confessions of Artemas Quibble | Page 6

his desk with the little bronze
horse.
"Who gets all the money?" I asked ruefully.
"The Society for the Propagation of Free Thinking," he answered,
eyeing me sharply.
"I should think anything like that ought to be contrary to law!" I
retorted. "It ought to be a crime to encourage atheism."
"It's a good devise under our statutes!" he answered dryly. "I suppose
your own faith is beautiful enough, eh?"

I did not respond, but sat twisting my hat in my hands. Through the
open window the soft damp odors of spring came in and mingled with
the dusty smell of law books. So this was law! It suddenly struck me
that I was taking the loss of over a million dollars very resignedly. How
did I know whether the old boy was telling me the truth or not? He had
drawn the will and got a good fee for it. Certainly he was not going to
admit that there was anything invalid about it. Why not study law--I
might as well do that as anything --and find out for myself? It was a
game worth playing. The stakes were a million dollars and the forfeit
nothing. As I looked around the little office and at the weazened old
barrister before me, something of the fascination of the law took hold
of me.
"I rather think I should like to study law myself," I remarked.
He looked at me out of the corners of his bead-like little eyes.
"And break your gran'ther's will, mebbe?" he inquired slyly.
"If I can," I retorted defiantly.
"That would be better than fighting cocks and frittering your time away
with play actors," said he.
"Mr. Toddleham," I returned, "if I will agree to turn over a new leaf and
give up my present associates, will you continue my allowance and let
me stay on in Cambridge and study law?"
"If you will agree to enter my office and study under my supervision
--yes."
Once more I glanced around the little room. Somehow the smell of
decaying leather did not have the same fascination that it had exercised
a few moments before. The setting sun sinking over the Probate Office
entered the window and lingered on the stern old face of the Hon.
Jeremiah Mason over the fireplace. The birds twittered gayly amid the
branches by the window. Spring called me to the open air, to the world
outside, to the future.

"Give me fifty dollars and my ticket to New York," said I.
It had so happened that at the time of my visit to Mr. Toddleham my
credit, and consequently my ready funds, had become so reduced that I
had only a dollar or two in my pocket. Therefore the check for fifty
dollars that the old gentleman had carefully drawn for me with his quill
pen and then had as carefully sanded over was by no means
inopportune. I took the shore-car back over the Warren Avenue Bridge,
depressed at the thought of leaving the scene of my first acquaintance
with the world and at the same time somewhat relieved, in spite of
myself, by the consoling thought that I should no longer be worried by
the omnipresent anxiety of trying to escape from duns and Jews.
Resolved to terminate my collegiate career in a blaze of glory, I went
the rounds of the college buildings and bade all my friends to a grand
celebration at the Tavern, where, owing to the large amount of trade
that I had been able to swing to it, my credit was still good. Even
"Buck" de Vries was not forgotten, and without a suggestion of my
contemplated departure I entertained my colleagues royally with a bowl
of punch brewed after a celebrated Cambridge recipe, which in a
decadent age spoke eloquently of the glories of the past. I was in the
midst of a highly colored speech--during which I must confess de Vries
had eyed me in a somewhat saturnine manner--when the proprietor
tapped me on the shoulder and said that I was wanted outside. Excusing
myself I stepped to the door only to be unexpectedly confronted by the
local sheriff, who apologetically informed me that he held a warrant of
attachment for my worldly goods and another for the arrest of my very
worldly person. With admirable presence of mind I requested his
patience until I should find my coat, and returning via the buttery made
my escape from the premises by means of the rear exit. Sic gloria
transit! That night I slept under the roof of the amiable Quirk in
Methuen, and the day after reached New York, the city of my future
career.
CHAPTER II
My arrival in the metropolis was unaccompanied by any newspaper

comment or by any particular excitement on the part