Mr. Clayton's Will

JíE CLAYTONS fiad issued invitaíions to a party at their country house jn Massachusetts. The guests, thirty Jn number, were to remain á week. Mj iwlfe and I looked forward to a grand lime. We had been there before and knew what a vlsl: to "Green Harbour" meant. It was a superb old place on the southeastern coast, just far enough from the beach to lend that soothing sound to the breakers which is so pleasant to hear at night after retiring. The house was of no special style of architecture. Originally it was a spacious farm house made many alterations and annexaof the old New England pattern. Ancestors of the present owner had tions, and the present master had completely renovated and, in a way, modernized It. The old elms and oaks were Btill vigorous and luxuriant, and they boasted of a lineage that might turn a colonial dame green with envy. They added also not a little to the beauty of the scenery. Giving a party of this kind and size is not an easy matter, as some have learned to their intense mortincation. Great care and skillful judgment must be. exercised in the selection of the guests, who, for seven clays, are to be so closely associated. But the Claytons were not novices; they knew the dispositions and tastes of tlieir friends, and they gathered a thoroughly congenial company. One lovely June morning the special train conveying the guests pulled out of the Old Colony stafion at Boston. A ride of thlrty miles brought us to the village, where carriages, stages, carts and wagons were in waiting to transport us and our numerous boxes to the house, flve miles öistant. It is unnecessary to attempt a description of the joyous, brief days that followed. Yachting, bowling, billiards, dancing, tableaux and, perhaps, a little flirtation occupied our entire time. The weather was superb and everything and everybody was in perfect harmony, when on the evening of the fourth day Mr. Clayton, wliile passing through the hall, feil dead upon the floor. The same heart trouble that had ended his father's life twenty years before. That the gayety and revelry was then at its height made this sad incident doubly shocking. A silence, sombre as a pall, settled over all. Each guest thought it his and her duty to leave as soon as possible; they feit ill at ease, de trop. Arrangements were at once made to have the baggage and private servants go by the eaiiy train in he morning; the guests were to follow an hour later. My wife wanted to wake her maid, who had been in bed for hours, for the purpose of packing her trunks. I thought this useless and said that 1 would attend to the packing; all that was required of the maid was that sho be in readiness to start in the morning. I advised my wife, who seemed to be nervous and agitated, to go to bed. This she consented to do, telling me to be sure to put everything in the trunks except what we wished to wear traveling. If anything requires greater skill and patience than packing long-train party dresses, to say nothing of other articles of feminine apparel, into comparatively well-filled trunks, I have yetto learn of it. This was many years ago and, perhaps, they made gowns longer then- or trunks smaller. However, I did the best I could and feit rather proud of my Job. I was up in the morning to see our luggage carried down. "Are you sure you put everything In?" asked my wife from her comfortable position of repose. "Everything but the things you ought to be getting in," I answered, inelegantly, starting downstairs. An hour later one of the house servants brought me a card, on which was written, "Do come here at once. Something dreadful has happened." My wife had written it. Filled with thoughts of another calamity, I hurried to her chamber. As I entered I saw she %vas dressed, standing, looking over her shoulder into the glass. "You frightened me dreadfully," I said, half provoked to find everything peaceful. "What has happened?' "Do I look all right?" she asked, twirling around like the dummy figures we eee In the shops. I told her she looked charming, and again asked her to explain what had occurred. She seated herself on the bed and there was something In her manner and expression that warned me I was in for it. "Did it ever occur to you," she asked Batirically, "that you had mistaken your calling? Don't you think you might suceeed better as an expert packer than as a lawyer?" she continued, leaving me for an instant in doubt respecting her sanity. But her allusion to my late laborious task convinced me that somehow I had blundered. "Didn't I get everything in?" I asked, Ceeling secure in my position. "Unfortunately, you did," she answered, "my tournure with the rest." "Your what?" I gasped, not comprehending, and fearing that the catastrophe, whatever it might be, had been occasioned by my ignorance or Etupidity. "My tournure, my bustle! are you capable of understanding that?" It was in the days of bustles. "Oh," I replied, "you told me to put ïverything in, and that was something." "I should think so," she answered, Tising and straining for another reai view of herself in the mirror. "It was that lovely wire one that Bessy brought Tne from Paris." "I remember the thing now," I said. 'I had trouble in getting it in. Twas t kind of crescent shaped machina made if wire; I took it for a bird cage or a tiouse trap." She shuddered at the word mouse, but lontrolling herself said: "It is all very tunny now, but the next time you are iway from home and find that your ïian has substituted your boating shirt for your dress-coat, it may not be quite o amusing." "We had been married tmt six months and trifles were magni9ed into mountains. Observlng that she really feit hurt, I told her that she looked all right and issured her that the platform that she lad succeeded in erecting at the back 5f her walst was broad enough to port a politica] party. This put her in better spirits and she became conüdential. "Do you know," she said, "I was tempted to utilize the pillow cases? They would have answered admirably. But I feared their absence might lead Busplclon to point to the servants. A few newspapers would have done very well, but there were none at hand. Witfc the aid of a chair I was able to find an old dusty roll of paper on top of the n-ardrobe. I did not untie it; I just made a little hole at each end, tied a shoestring- in each, bent it a little and tied 'it on." "You certainly are the tnother of invention, if of .nothing else," I answered, kissing her as I spoke. About ten days iater I was sitting at the breakfast table, in mj Boston house, reading the morning paper. "That's queer," I said, glancing fr m the paper to ray wife, "Mr. Clayton's will can't be found. 1 will read what it says: " 'The will of Mr. Parkman Clayton, the millionaire, whose funeral took place on the Gth inst., cannot bè found. Hls lawyer, Mr. Phillips Andrews", says that he wrote the will at Mr. Clayton's dictation last December, and that after signing it Mr. Clayton took possession of the paper. A thorough search has been made, tmt without success. Suspicion points to Austin Clayton, a son of the dead man, who, if not disinherited, was some years previously denied admission to his, father's house. It is thought'the young man may have gained possession ' of ' the document through the instrumentaiity of the servants. In the event of its not being found Austin would be entitled to his share of the estáte. The matter is beIng investigaííd.' " In this situaüon the matter rested, tvhen, several months later, I was dressing hurriedly to go to the opera. My shirt was too stiff to button readily, my Btuds were rebellious and all the annoying things which lnvariably overtake one when in a hurry feil to my lot. I was provoked, and in my agitation aecidentally jerked out my collar button. As usual, it sought refuge beneath the bureau. I ran into my wife's room, she was already dressed and waiting', expecting to flnd one, or something that might answer. But an array of hairpins, button-hooiiB and manicure implements alone greeted me. She must have something that will do, I thought, as I hastily opened her bureau drawer. Heavens, what a sight! Gloves, ribbons, fans, smelling flasks, veils and numerous other things were engaged in bitter conflict, each endeavoring to outdo the other. In tumbling these about in my search I came upon an odd looking affair, so unique in design and construction as to excite my curiosity. It was a roll of parchment, or stiff paper, with a shoestring dangling from each end. "By George!" I exclaimed, mentally. "Here Is my wife's patent bustle, the substitute of Bessy's Parisian creation." As I held it in my hand I glanced in the opened end and saw that there was writing within. Hastily tearing it apart, the missing will of Mr. Clayton's, together with a deed for some property in Vermont, lay before me. I was so delighted with the joke I had on my wife that I gave no further thought to the opera, nor to my appearance. In inartistic deshabille I :hrew myself upon the bed and laughed Inordinately. In this position I was 'ound by my wife, who, not unnaturally, thought me partially demented. "Are y ou going to the opera? or do rou find sufficient. enjoyment in this farce?" she asked, pretending to be vexed. "My darling," I answeretf, "if, when you were in posssetsion of that immense fortune, or perhaps I should say, when you were so near to it, you had nvested in a few collar buttons you would not find it necessary now to complain of my tardiness." "Are you hopelessly crazy?" she asked, back as if in fear. What do you mean about my fortune?" "I mean," I answered, seriously, takng a different tack, "that you are suspected of having stolen Mr. Clayton's will. The missing document has been 'ound in your bureau drawer, and its ippearance indicates that it was con=ealed about your person when you eft the house where you had been an ■ïonored guest." Her cleverness came at once to her issistance. "Do you mean," she asked, :oming closer and speaking low, "that the roll of paper your carelessness 3bliged me to use was Mr. Clayton's will?" "Tes; that is about the situation," ( answered, carelessly. "But you may neet with some trouble in convincing i jury that my carelessness justifica rour fclony. But I'll get you off," I said, leetng I was carrying my joke too far. 'We will send it to the Clayton's anon,-mously. They will be so glad to get t they will not inquire where it came 'rom." I did not do so, of course, but made in explanation which left out the bustle ncident. However, for many a day 'the fortune my wlfe was near to" served me admirably. But in an evil ïour I, in writing the Invitations to a linner we were giving, inadvertently jut "R. I. p." in the lower left-hand :orner of each. For a while my wife vas master and the Clayton will was ïever mentioned. Since that date I have egarded joking as an evidence of low jrigin. ' The Criminal Law Magazine of New r.orV., ed'.ted by James S. Erwin, is the nly periodical in the English-speaking eorld in which criminal cases alone re reported and dlBcussd.