The House in the Mist | Page 4

the boy in
the window? My eyes aren't what they used to be, but he don't seem to
favor the Westonhaughs over-much. One of Salmon's four
grandchildren, think 'e? Or a shoot from Eustace's gnarled old trunk?
His gals all married Americans, and one of them, I've been told, was a
yellow-haired giant like this fellow."
As this description pointed directly toward me, I was about to venture a
response on my own account, when my attention, as well as theirs, was
freshly attracted by a loud "Whoa!" at the gate, followed by the hasty
but assured entrance of a dapper, wizen, but perfectly preserved little
old gentleman with a bag in his hand. Looking askance with eyes that
were like two beads, first at the two men who were now elbowing each
other for the best place before the fire, and then at the revolting figure
in the chair, he bestowed his greeting, which consisted of an elaborate
bow, not on them, but upon the picture hanging so conspicuously on
the open wall before him; and then, taking me within the scope of his
quick, circling glance, cried out with an assumption of great cordiality:
"Good evening, gentlemen; good evening one, good evening all.
Nothing like being on the tick. I'm sorry the night has turned out so
badly. Some may find it too thick for travel. That would be bad, eh?
very bad--for them."
As none of the men he openly addressed saw fit to answer, save by the

hitch of a shoulder or a leer quickly suppressed, I kept silent also. But
this reticence, marked as it was, did not seem to offend the new-comer.
Shaking the wet from the umbrella he held, he stood the dripping
article up in a corner and then came and placed his feet on the fender.
To do this he had to crowd between the two men already occupying the
best part of the hearth. But he showed no concern at incommoding
them, and bore their cross looks and threatening gestures with
professional equanimity.
"You know me?" he now unexpectedly snapped, bestowing another
look over his shoulder at that oppressive figure in the chair. (Did I say
that I had risen when the latter sat?) "I'm no Westonhaugh, I; nor yet a
Witherspoon nor a Clapsaddle. I'm only Smead, the lawyer. Mr.
Anthony Westonhaugh's lawyer," he repeated, with another glance of
recognition in the direction of the picture. "I drew up his last will and
testament, and, until all of his wishes have been duly carried out, am
entitled by the terms of that will to be regarded both legally and
socially as his representative. This you all know, but it is my way to
make everything clear as I proceed. A lawyer's trick, no doubt. I do not
pretend to be entirely exempt from such."
A grumble from the large man, who seemed to have been disturbed in
some absorbing calculation he was carrying on, mingled with a few
muttered words of forced acknowledgment from the restless old sinner
in the chair, made it unnecessary for me to reply, even if the last comer
had given me the opportunity.
"It's getting late!" he cried, with an easy garrulity rather amusing, under
the circumstances. "Two more trains came in as I left the depot. If old
Phil was on hand with his wagon, several more members of this
interesting family may be here before the clock strikes; if not, the
assemblage is like to be small. Too small," I heard him grumble a
minute after, under his breath.
"I wish it were a matter of one," spoke up the big man, striking his
breast in a way to make it perfectly apparent whom he meant by that
word one. And having (if I may judge by the mingled laugh and growl
of his companions) thus shown his hand both figuratively and literally,

he relapsed into the calculation which seemed to absorb all of his
unoccupied moments.
"Generous, very!" commented the lawyer in a murmur which was more
than audible. "Pity that sentiments of such broad benevolence should
go unrewarded."
This, because at that very instant wheels were heard in front, also a
jangle of voices, in some controversy about fares, which promised
anything but a pleasing addition to the already none too desirable
company.
"I suppose that's sister Janet," snarled out the one addressed as Hector.
There was no love in his voice, despite the relationship hinted at, and I
awaited the entrance of this woman with some curiosity.
But her appearance, heralded by many a puff and pant which the damp
air exaggerated in a prodigious way, did not seem to warrant the
interest I had shown in it. As she stepped into the room, I saw only a
big frowsy woman,