Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 February 1875 — SERVING THE WRIT. [ARTICLE]

SERVING THE WRIT.

BY ERSKINE M. HAMILTON.

The small, dapper figure of ’Squire But terfield was seated in his office one cold winter morning, and the ’Squire was vainly trying to comprehend a pile of law books. These books had been left by opposing attorneys in some case tried before him, and from the cases therein cited he was expected to make up his decision. Had it been any other question—geography, astronomy, mechanics, or what not—the ’Squire would have settled it at once. He had the most thorough confidence in the ability of ’Squire Butterfield to settle anything, but now he was perplexed. The more he studied the more he became convinced that the plaintiff had all the law on his side; and so had the defendant; and that both sides had amply proved their case. In this bewildering state of mind he concluded to take a sort of middle course, at once satisfactory to himself if to no one,else, and he had just written upon his docket, “ Case dismissed for want of jurisdiction,’’ when the tall, thin, somber figure of Mr. Grimp appeared in the doorway. Now Mr. Grimp was an awfufjy solemn man. Arrayed in the blackest of broadcloths, the stiffest of neckties, the whitest of shirt fronts and standing collars, with features cold, austere and severely serious, Mr. Grimp somehow ever suggested unpleasant thoughts of funerals, grave-clothes and coffins. He was professedly a very religious man, too —very. In prayer-meeting, classmeeting and on other occasions his monotonous, sepulchral, metallic voice was frequently heard speaking of the “ shortness of life,” the “ certainty of death” and about “becoming food for the worms,” and such other cheerful subjects. Cold and passionless himself, he had no mercy for the weakness or frailty of his fellow, exacting the most formal religious observance in others, and the last penny due him by his debtors. And he was rich. “ I have called, Brother Butterfield,” began Mr. Grimp in slow, measured tones —“ I have called to see you about a little matter that has been on my mind for some time; a matter I hesitated bringing before the courts, as I think the Scrip ture rule should be generally followed about 1 going to law beiore the unjust,’ and ” , —_ “ Humph!” And the ’Squire straightened himseif on his chair and ran his hand through his thin locks until each individual hair stood out a bristling protest. “I reckon I ain’t a bit more unjust than any on ’em. If you’re hintin’that way, why in Sam Hill didn’t ye take your case afore some spiritooal court an’ done w r ith it ?” Mr. Grimp colored slightly. “ I think you misunderstand me, Brother Butterfield ; I only used the expression in a general sense, without allusion to you, whom I know to be a man with clear ideas of justice, or else the community had not placed you in so responsible a position.” The ’Squire’s testiness at once disappeared, the smile came back; and he bowed in complacent acquiescence. “But to return to my business,” continued Mr. Grimp./ “ You doubtless know Mrs. Barney?” “ What, Widow Barney’’’ and the complacent look instantly gave place to an unusual flush on the questioner’s face. “Yes; I believe she is a widow. Her husband —poor man—became somewhat involved before he <iied; but may we hope in a better world he has discovered the things of earth to be but vanity and vexation of spirit. Like us all, Brother Butterfield, he brought nothing into the world, and it is certain he carried nothing out,” “I s’pose not, as you got the hull on’t,” answered the ’Squire, although misinterpreting Mr. Grimp’s moralizing. “Ahem! Ah, yes! I presume you allude to the foreclosing of a mortgage I held on his place. It was truly unpleasant for me to do, but duty to my children, so lately deprived of a mother, impelled me. As the Scripture says: ‘lf any provide not for his own, especially for those of his awn house, he hath denied the faith and is worse than an infidel.’ ” “ Better had some keer for other folks’ orphans as well,” muttered the ’Squire; but Mr. Grimp did not hear, and proceeded: „ • '* “ Well, at the sale of Mr. Barney’s {dace I bought it in, and since then I have et Mrs. Barney have it at a nominal rent —at a mere nominal rent, I assure you, Brother Butterfield. And it is, about that I have Called.” . “ The long and sheet on’t is, she hain’t paid the rent and you want her put out?” “ Well—yes and np. I wish steps taken in that direction, but not to extremes. I would Ijke process issued, but have final: measures kept in abeyance, as I think the matter may be amicably arranged." “ That is, you want some scarecrow to hold over her to bring her to terms?”

suggested the 'Squire, looking keenly at his visitor. Mr. Grimp nodded. “You will attend to it, Brother Butterfield?” he said. “ I’ll ’tend to it," said the ’Squire. Then Mr. Grimp bowed solemnly, said “Farwell, Brother Butterfield,” and passed out into the sunshine—his figure almost too thin and dried up to cast a shadow in the bright sunlight, yet sufficient to cast moral shadow and unhappiness over homes and lives around and about him. For a moment following Mr. Grimp’s departure the ’Squire’s face was full of conflicting emotions. He arose from his chair, and his small boot-heels dattered on the office floor as he paced hurriedly to and fro. “The old skinflint!” he muttered. “ Jest as if I didn’t see through him like a book! He wants to convart the widow into Mrs. Grimp number two, an’ if she ain’t willin’—maybe she’s refused him already —he wants” me to make her think she’d better be. That’s what he wants. Ha, ha! I reckon there’s a widower that Widow Barney or any other woman would jest be proud to git; he’s not a thousand miles ofl, neither”—and the 'Squire paused smilingly before a small mirror, adjusted his cellar and smoothed the few hairs carefully over the bald spot on his head. “Not so old, after all; and a sight better looking than old Grimp! Guess he didn’t know who he was cornin’ to, did he? An’ he wants me to sarve a writ on Widow Barney. George! I’ll sarve it myself an’ git m ahead of him! Big joke it’ll be on Grimp! Ha, ha!” In the main the ’Squire was correct in his cogitations. To secure the lively, pretty, sensible young widow as an helpmeet in place of the “ late lamented” was precisely what Mr. Grimp desired. He had at different times made advances in that direction, but receiving only negative replies he concluded to try a little mild coercion and “ bring her to" her senses,” as he inwardly called it. Now, singularly enough, the ’Squire also was a widower, and he, too, was matrimonially inclined toward the widow Barney. He had never made any propositions to that lady, thinking in his conceit he had only to offer himself to be accepted at once and she be glad of the opportunity. But there was incentive to immediate action. There was a chance —it might happen—that the widow, being ignorant of the ’Squire’s intentions, might possibly throw herself away on Mr. Grimp ? The ’Squire did not like the thought, and as above intimated he resolved to serve the writ and “ pop the question” at the same time. He would not delay about the matter either. He would do it that very evening—that he would; and then see the longitude Mr. Grimp’s face would assume. The idea pleased him greatly. He chuckled over it all through the day; chuckled over it cm his way home in the evening and at tea-time chuckles interspersed themselves throughout the meal, much to the wonderment of the old housekeeper. Indeed, her looks betokened so much curiosity that the ’Squire noticed it at last, and after he had swallowed the last morsel and laid down his knife and fork he said: “ Mrs. Crandal, I’m goin’ to git married.” “ Well, now, railly!” exclaimed the old woman, almost dropping the tea-cups in surprise. “ May Ibe so proud as to ask who she may be ?” “ Widow Barney.” “ What! Widder Barney? Sakes, now! When ye goin’ to be married?” “ I don’t know yet; haven’t asked her. Goin’ to do it, though, to-night.” “ Mebbe she won’t have ye,” observed Mrs. Crandal, rather doubtfully. “ Won’t have me? Me!—’Squire Butterfield?” exclaimed the ’Squire, surprised out of all measure at so extraordinary a suggestion. “ I’d like to see the woman that wouldn’t jest jump at the chance — jest jump at the chance!” “ I dunno,” said the old woman, shaking her head With mournful credulity; “ these ’ere widders are very onsartin — ’specially the young ones—an’ there’s no tellin’ what they’ll do. ’Sides, there’s that young lawyer, Tom Harwood, seein’ her about a good deal.” “ Oh, that amounts to nothin’,” said the Squire, complacently. “He boards at her house, an’ takes her to meetin’ an’ singin’-school jest out of politeness.” Mrs. Crandal made no further remark, but proceeded to gather up the dishes, and the ’Squire went to his room to gather himself into his Sunday clothes. He decided not’ to call too early upon the widow, lest she might not be ready for visitors, and therefore he delayed until the clock struck the hour of. nine; then a tall hat, drab trousers, a blue, brass-buttoned “swallow-tail,” an overcoat —and ’Squire Butterfield contained somewhere within —passed out to the road. It was a clear, cold, moonlight night, no one was out on the street, and the bright home-lights from various windows shone upon a face assured and possessed as he moved along. No “faint heart” to “win fair lady” did he carry! Not at all. But with firm, confident step he passed over the crisp, well-trodden snow that creaked loudly under his feet. It was not a very long walk and he soon reached his destination. The widow’s house was a small two-story frame, quite back from the road, and surrounded by a forest of shrubbery and fruit trees. From the gate a path wound up to the house under unese trees, and the ’Squire had to move oautiously, as the moon gave but faint liglJt through the foliage. He reached the house safely, however, and glanced up at the second story, the corner room of which was used by the widow as a sitting-room. He saw it was well lighted, the window-curtains not yet down, and he was about turning toward the door when some one —a man—came to the window and looked out. For the first time the ’Squire paused irresolutely. Who was that man ? Was it Grimp—and had he got the start of him after all? He didn’t wish to see Mr. Grimp—at least, not then and there. He stepped back a little to get a better view, and waited for the face to appear again. But it did not. Then he moved round to the end of the house and looked up at the window on that side, but with no better result If he only knew who the man was; knew certainly it was not Mr. Grimp, he would be satisfied. His eye rested on the low

back-kitchen, directly below the end window. If he was only on that he could look into the room unobserved by anyone. It could do no harm, either; and he did so wish to know who that man was! The more the ’Squire thought about it the more convinced was he that it was Mr. Grimp—but then, maybe it wasn’t. He would find out! He became more resolute then, and looked about for some aid to his purpose. This, after some search, he found in a small ladder, which he placed against the kitchen and began to ascend. He got up the ladder without trouble, but found the roof so coated with ice that he had to move with extreme caution. However, the window was reached at last, and, looking in, he saw only the widow and Tom Harwood sitting by the fire. “There!” muttered the Squire in disgust, after making this discovery; “I never thought of him! Why in Sam Hill didn’t I remember he was here, and saved all this trouble? Nearly spiled my best clothes, too!” "He turned about and was preparing to go back, when a movement down in the shrubbery arrested his attention and downward progress at the same time. For a minute or two he remained perfectly still; then he peered carefully over the roof’s edge. He saw a man standing below among the trees, but who he was the ’Squire couldn’t make out. Howbeit, whoever he might be, he seemed to be scanning the upper front window very closely. Indeed, this view did not seem to satisfy him, and like his “ illustrious predecessor” he, too, passed round back of the little kitchen. The ’Squire became alarmed. He would be discovered now certainly! What should he do? He glanced about hopelessly until he caught sight of the chimney—a large, old-fash-ioned one, running up from the kitchen close against and on the outside of the main building. With a quick movement he scrambled to his feet into the shadow of its deep corner and stood close against the wall. “ Maybe,” he thought, “ the man will go ’way pretty soon, confound him!” But the stranger seemed in no hurry to leave on the contrary he moved about a few minutes and then, to the consternation of our friend on the roof, he began to ascend the ladder. If ever ’Squire Butterfield perspired in his life he did then. Although it was a cold night he was in a profuse sweat from head to foot. He gritted his teeth, clenched his-hands, bit his lips until the bloodr came, but nevertheless the intruder made his way slowly but surely up the slippery incline. “ Goodness gracious! What in Sam Hill shall I do?” murmured the’Squire in his desperate fear. I’d give anything, yes, anything, if I was safe at home. I wish all the widows were in Guinea. 1 wish ” But the sentence never was completed. The ice—alas, the treacherous ice on the roof! Unexpectedly, suddenly, without premeditation or malice aforethought, the ’Squire’s feet shot forward from under him, and with accuracy of aim and swiftness of motion seldom surpassed he bore down upon the stranger. That individual’s hold was very weak and uncertain at best, and he was illy prepared for such an onslaught. Therefore when the ’Squire struck he too assumed an unexpected momentum, and both passed over the roof together, the stranger descending feet foremost into the rain barrel and the ’Squire making sad havoc with the widow’s grapevines and arbor. For a moment the stranger remained within the barrel arid the ’Squire among the vines where ..lie had fallen,•both too amazed and confounded to know what to do. But only for a moment; then they extricated themselves and stepped out into the moonlight, the ’Squirt! with coat torn clear up the back and the stranger very wet and dripping. And thus and there, face to face, they met. “ Brother Butterfield!” “Mr. Grimp!” * There was a momentary silence after these exclamations of astonished recognition. Mr. Grimp was the first to break it. “ Will you allow me to inquire, Brother Butterfield, what you W’ere doing on the roof of my house at this late hour?” “Sartainly you may, Mr. Grimp. I came—because —that is—l came to sarve that writ of yourn,” answered the ’Squire, relieved to find some excuse. “Ah!” “Yes; an’l’d like to know what business you had up there, Mr. Grimp?” “Icame to see you serve it,” said Mr. Grimp with a perceptible tightening of - “ Well,” said the ’Squire, rapidly recovering his composure, “if your writ don’t stick better’n you did on that ’ere roof it won’t amount to nothin’, that’s all.” What reply Mr. Grimp wojild have made to this thrust is not known, for just then the door opened and Tom Harwood and the widow, alarmed by the noise, came out. Both the ’Squire and Mr. Grimp would gladly have avoided an interview; indeed they turned to hasten away, but were too late. The widow recognized them at once. “Why, Mr. Grimp! and ’Squire Butterfield" too!” she exclaimed with the most charming of smiles. “Why, I thought it was burglars, or horse-thieves, or something, and I was so frightened. And, why, Mr. Grimp! you are real wet, aren’t you? Is it raining or snowing?” And she held out her little hand to catch the falling drops. “ No, marm, ’taint snowin’, or rainin’ either. Ye see, Mr. Grimp was jest showin’ me the water privileges about the place, an’ tryin’ to see how much a rain bar’l would hold,” responded the ’Squire sarcastically, pointing toward the aforesaid barrel. ‘brother Butterfield, will you be so kind as to attend to the business on wtpeh we came?” said Mr.Grimp sternly. “ Sartainly I will. Here, Widow Barney, is a writ from Mr. Grimp, notifyin’ you to give up these ’ere premises.” “ I will take charge of that,” said young Harwood rather haughtily. , “ I will call upon you to-morrow,’Squire, and settle the matter! I would say, also, Mr. Grimp, that, the time for redemption not having expired, the mortgage and costs on this

lady’s place have been paid in to the County Clerk, and you will not be troubled in caring for it further.” After that —well, Mr. Grimp made some indistinct reply, and the ’Squire very profuse and incoherent apologies; then they took their leave as best they could, feeling very awkward, mortified and humiliated. They did not go home together either, nor ever after speak of the evening’s experience to each other. However, a month later, when Tom Harwood married the widow, the ’Squire was observed to shake his head mournfully and murmur: “ If it hadn’t been for old Grimp comm’ jest as he did that night, things would have been different. Widow Barney never would would have married that conceited young Harwood —never!” As for Mr. Grimp, his face and his prayers grew longer day by day, and the Sunday following the marriage he spoke feelingly of “ this vale of tears,” the “ vanity of human expectations,” and the “ uncertainty of earthly things,” and when the collection was raised for the poor he sadly gave a torn bit of currency his grocer had refused the day before.— Hearth and Home.