The Just And The Unjust (33 page)

Abner heard about Peck College, and also about Blessington's death and his will for the first time, when he got a letter from former Senator Enoch Little, a friend of Abner's father. The Senator wrote that it would give him great pleasure to retain his old friend's son in a matter which interested him as Chairman of the Board of Trustees of his former college. The trustees had been notified by Mr. Fuller that they were mentioned in a will about to be offered for probate, a copy of which the Senator was enclosing for Abner's consideration. In the Senator's opinion, the condition of the first bequest was clearly one in terrorem; and ought to he held contra bonos mores, and so void; bringing the alternative into effect, and giving the money to Peck College. What was Abner's opinion?

Senator Little, besides being his father's friend, was a man of importance with a long listing in the Directory of Directors. Abner looked up the point about conditions in terrorem in Corpus Juris; and though he discovered there that a condition providing that a wife's sister should not reside with or dwell in the house or place of residence of the wife had been held good, he thought that Blessington's provision about gifts would not be good, as involving or tending to encourage the violation of the duty which one member of a family owes another. At least, it would make a moot point on which the Supreme Court might be asked to rule. Arguing before the Supreme Court was always to the advantage of a young lawyer. Abner wrote the Senator that he was entering an appearance with the Register and would be happy to represent the Trustees. He was, in fact, pleased; and when he showed his father Senator Little's letter, it was plain that Judge Coates was even more pleased.

Abner went over to see Bill Fuller. Bill, a short fat man with a few strands of grey hair on his square head, was an old hand at such matters, and didn't mind being frank. He said that Blessington was a louse if ever there was one; that the sisters, who had done everything they could for him, were poor as dirt and desperately needed the money; and, of course, it was to the Trust Company's interest to maintain the original bequest. He said, 'Ab, I wish I'd let the old fool alone. In equity, I don't have to tell you, if the condition is void, the bequest's still good. Elvira would get the money and go right ahead and provide for her sisters; and that's the way it ought to be. They're old ladies, and they need that money. Two of them never married—Elvira, and what's her name, Julia. Thing was, he wouldn't let them; they had to work for him. One of the others is a widow; and the other has a husband who's an invalid, or something. I don't know what they live on.'

Bill got redder, incensed by the picture; and perhaps also by a recollected disregard of his admonitions. 'Well, sir,' he said, 'when Herb told me what he was planning to do, I had a good mind to let him. Then I said to myself, "Now, Bill, my friend," I said, "evil communications are kind of corrupting you! This rat in pants here's come for legal advice; and to the best of your knowledge you've got to give it to him straight." I said, "Herb, you don't want that condition. The court would throw it out, ten to one." He says, "And what then?" I said, I had to, "Elvira gets it unconditionally." That brought him up. He says, "Not if I know it!" He used to do a lot of praying (and, boy, he needed it!) with some Christer who went to this jerkwater college. Well, I did my duty, Ab; though it damn near killed me. If you file exceptions to our account as executors, I'll fight you, of course; but I'm afraid you're going to win.'

Abner said, 'From what you tell me. Bill, I don't like it. I never knew anything about Mr. Blessington except he used to make swell ice cream. But there's this friend of father's who asked me if I'd take it. Withdrawing would be —'

Bill said, 'Hell, Ab, if it wasn't you, it'd be someone else! Go to it. The public policy point needs a ruling anyway. Make it clear just how far you can go with a condition subsequent. I know you can't require a person not to marry, that is, if the person hasn't been married; and I know you can't require a change of religion. Those are void as against public policy. Well, we'll see what the Orphans' Court thinks. Are you willing to submit on briefs?'

'Sure,' said Abner.

Submitting on briefs suited him better than having to stand up and argue; probably before Judge Irwin, who had a sharp eye for actual as well as legal equity. The cause Abner was representing might not offend right and justice; but it did do a certain violence to one's sense of fairness or human decency. Abner sat for some time looking out at the heavy fall of rain on the brick backs of the bank and the Gearheart Building beyond it. He saw then that it was twenty minutes of ten; so he quickly signed in the spaces awaiting his signature, brought the folder out to Arlene, and said, while he put on his hat and raincoat, 'All right Shoot it in.'

3

Entering the courthouse by the door under the passage to the jail, Abner found the gloomy, damp-smelling back hall already stirring with people. Nick Dowdy, who had been leaning against the radiator with his cigar, shuffled up to him and murmured, 'Ab, two fellows there; reporters. Asked to see you or Marty. You want —'

'Not now. I have to see the Judge.'

Around the bend of the hall, the door to the courtroom was open. Malcolm. Levering with little pulls and pushes was aligning the jury's chairs neatly. Abner opened the door of the Attorneys' Room. It was hazed with "tobacco smoke. Old John Clark and George Stacey and Mark Irwin sat with sections of the morning paper; but they were not reading, for Harry Wurts, standing against the fireplace, bright and clean-shaven, was saying, '... at the age of fifteen she was ruined by a travelling salesman. "What do you mean, ruined?" says Mike. "Put the boots to her last night, and she worked swell."'

John Clark's dignified 'Heh, heh' rang out. George and Mark laughed; and Mark said, 'Reminds me of the one about —!'

Harry said, 'Well, well, greetings, Mr. Commonwealth! How are all the little Commonwealths this morning? None the worse for their harrowing experience yesterday, I trust?'

'Nuts to you,' Abner said, hanging up his coat and hat. 'I have to see the Judge —'

'Now, wait, wait!' said Harry. 'What's all this about that Field, Sam Field, over at school? Hey, Mark, don't let him out! We have to get to the bottom of it.'

'Sounds like you could tell me,' Abner said. 'What?'

'Mark, here, says that Marty was over to see his father last night.'

'I wasn't there.'

'Rumour hath it that a couple of high school girls were suddenly taken enceinte — means, ungirdled, George — and that —'

'Well, that's definitely not true,' Abner said, 'so you'd better get a new Rumourer. Who told you about it?'

'Don't you wish you knew?' said Harry.

'Not much,' Abner said. 'So long.' He went out into the hall and made his way past the loitering groups to the door of Judge Irwin's chambers.

The inner room, where Judge Irwin sat, corresponded in shape and position to the Attorneys' Room on the other side. It had the same Gothic fireplace and ogee-arched door-frames to the courtroom, to the hall, to the lavatory in the corner, and to the law library. Here the two windows were on the sunny side of the building and they had been equipped with awnings, now dank and taut with rain. The darkness of the day and the lowered awnings made it necessary for the lights, in a bowl of white china hanging on bronze chains, to be on. In this wan mingling of daylight and electric light, Judge Irwin, slight and neat, wearing a suit of blue serge, a stiff linen collar, and black knitted tie with a pearl pin in it, sat restlessly looking at the latest paper-bound supplement to the Atlantic Reporter.

Seeing Abner in the door beyond, Judge Irwin took off his glasses. 'Well,' he said, 'it's a wet morning. Come in, Ab.' Joining his long-boned hands, he wrung them together gently. His acute, anxious gaze fixed itself on Abner. With a little preparatory grimace showing discomfort or distaste, he said, nodding at the folder in Abner's hand, 'This is a repellent thing; and it's for that reason that I think we ought to be careful to see that it's kept impersonal. It is natural to feel an indignation; but we should not be biased into forgetting that the offence was not worse than it was, if I may put it that way.'

Taking up his glasses, Judge Irwin produced a fresh handkerchief and began to polish the lenses. He said with active distress, 'I do not mean to minimize the element of betrayal of trust. We have a right to expect that a man will be alive to his duty and responsibility; and when he goes clean contrary to them, when, instead of helping those in his charge to self-control and the formation of wise and wholesome habits, he sets them an example of licence, and introduces them to, or at least, assists them in, debasing practices, the offence is heinous.' He cleared his throat and put the glasses carefully in their case.

'Doctor Janvier came in earlier,' he said, 'and I had a talk with him. He doesn't find any outright abnormalities in the defendant; but he thinks that psychologically he is not quite normal — whatever that may be. I mean, I have, as you must have, often wondered what is normal; and who is. I think we all recognize in ourselves occasional impulses or ideas which, if put in practice or disclosed to the world, would cast the gravest doubts on our own normality. In short, what is abnormal is not perhaps the impulse, whatever it may be; but the giving way to it, when it is one that most men's reason, or conscience, or even mere fear of the police, restrains. No man can be excused from conforming to the requirements of the social order; and it is right to penalize him when he fails to conform; but I think we should bear in mind that what is none to us, may be to him a great temptation. I don't know whether I make myself clear?'

'Yes, you do, Judge,' Abner said. When Irwin went into one of his monologues, sign always that he was greatly upset, he talked less to the person he addressed than to himself. With his great resources of knowledge and experience he assayed new explanations of the inexplicable; patiently, unwilling to despair, he argued the world around him back to some degree of reason. 'Then, I think we can go up,' Judge Irwin said. The lavatory door opened and Judge Vredenburgh came out. 'Morning, Abner,' he said. He took his robe from the hook in the corner and thrust his arms through the wide silk sleeves. His full face was drawn down a little around the firm mouth, the second chin just showing solidly above his collar. His blue eyes were shrewd and thoughtful. 'Horace,' he said, 'I was racking my brain about that Field boy. Ask Mat Rhea, when he has time, to go through the docket around 1880. I think you'll find that Field's grandfather had some trouble in connection with molesting girls. His mother's father, that was. I think the name was Ireland, or Irish.'

Judge Irwin bit his lip. That would be a curious coincidence,' he said. 'I don't know that we should consider it germane to — visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.' He grimaced.

Judge Vredenburgh said, 'I understand there's a respectable precedent for doing that; but I'm not urging it. I just thought it might interest you. Afraid it's going to be a bad thing for Oliver Rawle.'

'Yes. Jesse Gearhart called me about it, though; and I think Oliver will have some support on the board.'

'Well, I must go in and get on with this,' Judge Vredenburgh said. 'I hope we can finish to-day. I don't think there's much doubt about what the jury will find. Those men ought to be electrocuted; and I'm only sorry we'll have to stall around with an appeal. What with motions in arrest of judgment, and for a new trial, it may be a month before we can even sentence them.'

'If it were my life,' Judge Irwin said, 'I don't know that I would regard the delay as inordinate.' He arose and got his robe from the other hook. 'One must put one's self in the other person's place.' He smiled, took up two green-bound volumes of statutes and a yellow pad.

'Yes,' said Judge Vredenburgh, 'and let them put themselves in this Zolly, this Frederick Zollicoffer's place. They didn't wait around while someone like Harry Wurts filed motions and printed records and took appeals.'

Judge Irwin smiled again. 'I'll say this, Tom. I have heard nothing about them to make me think that they are persons on whose conduct we should model our own. I may come down for a little while later.'

'Wish you would,' Judge Vredenburgh said. He opened the courtroom door, and Abner could see, sidelong, the cavernous gloom, the partly filled benches rising to the grey windows. Nick Dowdy's mallet hit the block; and with a ripple and stir everyone stood up as the door softly closed. High in the haze of rain above the roof, the tower clock began to bang out ten.

4

The number two courtroom upstairs measured about twenty by thirty feet. Half this space was taken by the jury box — three rows of empty chairs ascending on shallow steps. The bench, witness stand, and railed clerk's desk formed a small unit at the end. To get to it, one had to move, with little room to spare, past counsels' tables; like the jury box, too big for the room; At the back, next to the door, were two long benches, each accommodating a dozen people. Bunting had managed to keep the affair this morning so quiet that the benches were not filled when Abner came in with Judge Irwin. Sam Field and Warren Lyall, the deputy sheriff, sat at the end of the first table. Behind them sat Abner Field's uncle, the minister; and Beatrice Wright (Abner knew her to speak to, but no more) and her husband, a beefy, solemn-looking young man.

Judge Irwin went briskly past to the bench, and Abner, following him, laid his folder on the first table. Judge Irwin said good morning to Maynard Longstreet, who had made himself at home at one side of the clerk's desk; but there was no clerk. The Judge said, 'Where is Mr. Bosenbury? Wasn't he told?'

Everitt Weitzel, who had been whispering to Norman Creveling, broke off and said, 'I'll see, sir. He knows,' and limped out the door. 'Well, we won't stand on formality,' Judge Irwin said. 'The court of Quarter Sessions of the Peace is now open. You may proceed, Mr. Coates.'

Abner slipped out the three bills of indictment, 'Samuel Pierce Field?' he said.