XIX

THE RESURRECTION OF DIX

S

TILL, I had not got Dix back, and I meant to find him if possible! It was several days before I could get on the trace of him, and when I undertook to get the dog I found an unexpected difficulty in the way. I was sent from one office to an other until my patience was almost exhausted, and finally when I thought I had, at last, run him down, I was informed that the dog was dead. The gapped-tooth official with a pewter badge on his breast as his only insignia of official rank, on my pressing the matter, gave me a circumstantial account of the manner in which the dog came to his death. He had attempted, he said, to get through the gate and it had slammed to on him accidentally, and being very heavy had broken his neck.

I had given Dix up for lost and was in a very low state of mind, in which Jeams sympathized with me deeply, though possibly for a different reason. He declared that we had "lost a dog as could win a tendollar bill any day he could get a man to put it up.

"Cap'n, you jes' ought to 'a' seen the way he chawed up that bar-keep Gallagin's dog! I was jes' gittin' ready to rake in de pile when dem perlice jumped in an' hammered me. We done los' dat dog, Cap'n-you an' I got to go to work," he added with a rueful look.

It did look so, indeed. A few days later, a letter from him announced that he had gotten a place and would call on me "before long." As he gave no address, I assumed that his "place" was in some barroom, and I was much disturbed about him. One day, not long after, Dix dashed into my office and nearly ate me up in his joy. I really did not know until he came

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It was as if I took him

back how dear he was to me. he had risen from the dead. up in my arms and hugged him as if I had been a boy. He wore a fine new collar with a monogram on it which I could not decipher. Next day, as I turned into the alley at the back of the building on which opened Mick Raffity's saloon, with a view to running up to my office by the back way, I found Dix in the clutches of a man who was holding on to him, notwithstanding his effort to escape. He was a short, stout fellow with a surly face. At my appearance Dix repeated the manoeuvres by which he had escaped from Jeams the day I left him behind me back East, and was soon at my side. I strode up to the man.

"What are you doing with my dog?" I demanded angrily.

"He's Mr. McSheen's dog."

"He's nothing of the kind. He's my dog and I brought him here with me."

"I guess I know whose dog he is," he said, insolently. "He got him from Dick Gallagin."

Gallagin! That was the name of the man who had put up a dog to fight Dix. A light began to break on me.

"I guess you don't know anything of the kind, unless you know he's mine. He never heard of Gallagin. I brought him here when I came and he was stolen from me not long ago and I've just got him back. Shut up, Dix!" for Dix was beginning to growl and was ready for war.

The fellow mumbled something and satisfied me that he was laboring under a misapprehension, so I explained a little further, and he turned and went into Raffity's saloon. Next day, however, there was a knock at my door and before I could call to the person to come in, McSheen himself stood in the door. The knock itself

was loud and insolent, and McSheen was glowering and manifestly ready for trouble. "I hear you have a dog here that belongs to me," he began.

685

"Well, you have heard wrong, I have not."

"Well, to my daughter. It is the same thing."

"No, I haven't-a dog that belongs to your daughter?"

"He's not for sale-I won't sell him." "Well, I'll make it a hundred."

"No. I tell you the dog is not for sale. I won't sell him."

"What is your price, anyhow?" manded McSheen. "I tell you I want the

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'Yes, I brought him here with me when I came. I've had him since he was a puppy." "Oh! you did!"

"Yes, I did. Go back there, Dix, and lie down!" for Dix, with the hair up on his broad back and a wicked look in his eye, was growling his low, ominous base that meant war. At the words, however, he went back to his corner and lay down, his eye watchful and uneasy. His prompt obedience seemed. to stagger Mr. McSheen, for he condescended to make his first attempt at an explanation.

"Well, a man brought him and sold him to my daughter two months ago."

"I know-he stole him."

"I don't know anything about that. She paid for him fair and square-$50.00, and she's fond of the dog and I want him."

"I'm sorry, for I can't part with him."
"You'd sell him, I guess?"
"No."

"If I put up enough?"
"No."

"Say, see here." He put his hand in his pocket. "I helped you out about that nigger of yours, and I want the dog. I'll give you $50.00 for the dog-more than he's worth-and that makes one hundred he's cost."

dog back."

"Mr. McSheen, I have told you the dog is not for sale-I will not sell him at any price."

He suddenly flared up.

"Oh! You won't! Well, I'll tell you that I'll have that dog and you'll sell him too.” "I will not."

"We'll see. You think you're a pretty big man, but I'll show you who's bigger in this town-you or Coll McSheen. I helped you once and you haven't sense enough to appreciate it. You look out for me, young man." He turned slowly with his scowling eye on me.

"I will."

"You'd better. When I lay my hand on you, you'll think an earthquake's hit you." "Well, get out of my office now," I said. "Oh! I'm going now, but wait." He walked out, and I was left with the knowledge that I had one powerful enemy. I was soon to know Mr. Collis McSheen better, as he was also to know me better. A few days after this, I was walking along and about to enter my office when a man accosted me at the entrance and asked if I could tell him of a good lawyer.

I told him I was one myself, though I had the grace to add that there were many more, and I named several of the leading firms in the city.

"Well, I guess you'll do. I was looking for you. You are the one she sent me to," he said doubtfully, when I had told him my name. He was a weather-beaten little Scotchman, very poor and hard up; but there was something in his air that dignified him. He had a definite aim, and a definite wrong to be righted. The story he told me was a pitiful one. He had been in this country several years and had a place in a locomotive-shop somewhere East, and so long as he had had work, had saved money. But they "had been ordered out, he said, and after waiting around finding that the strike had failed, he had come on here and had gotten a place in a boilershop, but they "had been ordered out"

again, "just as I got my wife and children on and was getting sort of fixed up," he added. Then he had resigned from the union and had got another place, but a man he had had trouble with back East was "one of the big men up here now" and he had had him turned out because he did not "belong to the union." He was willing to join the union now, but "Wringman had had him turned down." Then he had gotten a place as a driver. But he had been ill and had lost his place, and since then he had not been able to get work, "though the preacher had tried to help him." He did not seem to complain of this loss of his place.

"The wagon had to run," he said, but he and his wife, too, had been ill, and the baby had died and the expenses of the burial had been "something." He appeared to take it as a sort of ultimate decree not to be complained of-only stated. He mentioned. it simply by way of explanation, and spoke as if it were a mere matter of Fate. And, indeed, to the poor, sickness often has the finality of Fate. During their illness they had sold nearly all their furniture to live on and pay rent. Now he was in arrears; his wife was in bed, his children sick, and his landlord had levied on his furniture that remained for the rent. At the last gasp he had come to see a lawyer.

“I know I owe the rent," he said, "but the beds won't pay it and the loan company's got all the rest."

I advised him that the property levied on was not subject to levy; but suggested his going to his landlord and laying the case before him.

"If he has any bowels of compassion whatever," I began, but he interrupted me. "That's what the preacher said." But his landlord was "the Argand Estate," he added in a hopeless tone. He only knew the agent. He had been to him and so had the preacher; but he said he could do nothing—the rent must be paid"the Argand Estate had to be kept up, or it couldn't do all the good it did," so he was going to turn them out next day.

He had been to one or two lawyers, he said; but they wouldn't take the case against the Argand Estate, and then the lady had sent him to me.

"What lady?"

McNeil's name had at first made no impression on me, but the mention of the beds, "the Argand Estate" and of Wringman brought up an association. "McNeil?-McNeil?" I said. "Did you have five children, and did your wife bring them on here some months ago-when the train was late, one day?"

"Yes, sorr; that's the way it was."

"Well, I will keep you in longer than to-morrow," I said. And I did. But Justice is too expensive a luxury for the poor. "Law is law," but it was made by landlords and for landlords. I won his case for him and got his furniture released; I scored the Argand agent, an icy-faced gentleman, named Gillis, "of high character," as the Argand counsel, Mr. McSheen, indignantly declared, and incidentally "the Argand Estate," in terms which made me more reputation than I knew of at the time.

The case was a reasonably simple one, for my client was entitled to a poor debtor's exemption of a few household articles of primary need, and he had not half of what he could have claimed under his exemption. It appeared, however, that in the lease, which was in the regular form used by the Argand Estate, all exemptions were waived, and also that it was the regular practice of the estate to enforce the waiver, and it was alleged at the trial that this practice. had always been sustained. It was the fact that this was the customary lease and that a principle was involved which brought Mr. McSheen into the case, as he stated, for a client who was the largest landlord in the whole city.

On the stand the Argand agent, Gillis, who, it appeared, had begun as an officeboy in the office of Mr. Argand and had then become his private secretary, from which he had risen to wealth and position, was foolish enough to say that the case was gotten up by an unknown young lawyer out of spite against the Argand Estate and that it was simply an instance of "the eternal attacks on wealth"; that, in fact, there were "only two sides, the man with the dress-coat and the man without."

"You began poor. When did you change your coat?" I asked.

The laugh was raised on him and he got angry. After that I had the case. I was unknown, but Gillis was better known than

was too plain. I got the jury and won the case. But, notwithstanding my success, my client was ruined. He was put out of the house, of course, and though I had saved for him his beds, every article he possessed soon went for food. The laws established for the very protection of the poor destroy their credit and injure them. He could not give security for rent, and at last he had to go, and but for a fellow-workman named Simms taking him into his house, and the kindness of the man he had spoken of as the preacher," his children would have had to go to the workhouse or a worse place. McNeil's case was the beginning of my practice, and in a little while I found my self counsel for many of the drivers in our section of the city.

Among those whom this case brought me in touch with was a young lawyer, who, a little later, became the attorney for the government. My interest in him was quickened by the discovery that he was related to Mr. Leigh, a fact he mentioned somewhat irrelevantly. He came up and congratulated me on my success against what he termed "the most powerful combination for evil in the city. They bid fair," he said, "to control not only the city, but the State, and are the more dangerous because they are entrenched behind the support of ignorant honesty." As he stood near Coll McSheen, I caught the latter's eye fixed on him with that curious malevolent expression which cast a sort of mask over his face.

I had not hunted up John Marvel after learning of his presence in the city, partly because I thought he would not be congenial and partly because, having left several affectionate letters from him unanswered during my prosperity, I was ashamed to seek him now in my tribulation. But Fate decided for me. We think of our absent friend and lo! a letter from him is handed to us before we have forgotten the circumstance. We fancy that a man in the street is an acquaintance; he comes nearer and we discover our mistake, only to meet the person we thought of on the next corner. We cross seas and run into our next-door neighbor in a crowded thoroughfare. In fact, the instances of coincidence are so numerous and so strange that one can hardly repel the inference that there is some sort of law governing them.

I indulged in this reflection when, a morning or two later, as I was recalling my carelessness in not looking up John Marvel and Wolffert, there was a tap on the door and a spare, well-built, darkbearded man, neatly but plainly dressed, walked in. His hat shaded his face and partly concealed his eyes; but as he smiled and spoke, I recognized him.

"Wolffert! I was just thinking of you." He looked much older than I expected, and than, I thought, I myself looked; his face was lined and his hair had a few strands of silver at the temples; his eyes were deeper than ever, and he appeared rather worn. But his manner was full of energy. In fact, as he talked he almost blazed at times. And I was conscious of a strange kind of power in him that attracted and carried me along with him, even to the dulling of my judgment. He had been away, he said, and had only just returned, and had heard of my success in "defeating the Argand Estate Combination"; and he had come to congratulate me. It was the first victory any one had ever been able to win against them. "But I did not defeat any combination," I said. "I only defeated Collis McSheen in his effort to take my client's bed and turn him out in the street without a blanket."

"There is the Combination, all the same," he asserted. "They have the Law and the Gospel both in the combine. They make and administer the one and then preach the other to bind on men's shoulders burdens, grievous to be borne, that they themselves do not touch with so much as a finger."

"But I don't understand," I persisted: for I saw that he labored under much suppressed feeling, and I wondered what had embittered him. "Collis McSheen I know, for I have had some experience of him; and Gillis, the agent, was a cool proposition: but the Argand Estate? Why, McSheen strung out a list of charities that the Argand Estate supported, that staggered me. I only could not understand why they support a man like McSheen."