The Entail. John Galt

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professional insight of all kinds of equivocation and chicanery had in no degree deteriorated from the purity of his own unsuspicious and benevolent nature. Indeed, at the very time that Claud called, he was rebuking his young men on account of the cruelty of a contrivance they had made to catch a thief that was in the nocturnal practice of opening the window of their office, to take away what small change they were so negligent as to leave on or in their desks; and they were not only defending themselves, but remonstrating with him for having rendered their contrivance abortive. For, after they had ingeniously constructed a trap within the window, namely, a footless table, over which the thief must necessarily pass to reach their desks, he had secretly placed a pillow under it, in order that, when it fell down, the robber might not hurt himself in the fall.

      ‘Gude morning, gude morning, Mr. Keelevin; how’re ye the day?’ said Claud, as he entered.

      ‘Gaily, gaily, Grippy; how’re ye yoursel, and how’s a’ at hame? Come awa ben to my room,’ was the writer’s answer, turning round and opening the door; for experience had taught him that visits from acquaintances at that hour were not out of mere civility.

      Claud stepped in, and seated himself in an old armed chair which stood on the inner side of the table where Mr. Keelevin himself usually wrote; and the lawyer followed him, after saying to the clerks, ‘I redde ye, lads, tak tent to what I hae been telling you, and no encourage yourselves to the practice of evil that good may come o’t. To devise snares and stratagems is most abominable – all that ye should or ought to do, is to take such precautions that the thief may not enter; but to wile him into the trap, by leaving the window unfastened, was nothing less than to be the cause of his sin. So I admonish you no to do the like o’t again.’

      In saying this he came in, and, shutting the door, took his own seat at the opposite side of the table, addressing himself to Claud, ‘And so ye hae gotten your auld son married? I hope it’s to your satisfaction.’

      ‘An he has brewed good yill, Mr. Keelevin, he’ll drink the better,’ was the reply; ‘but I hae come to consult you anent a bit alteration that I would fain make in my testament.’

      ‘That’s no a matter of great difficulty, Laird; for, sin’ we found out that the deed of entail that was made after your old son was born can never stand, a’ ye have is free to be destined as ye will, both heritable and moveable.’

      ‘And a lucky discovery that was; – many a troubled thought I hae had in my own breast about it; and now I’m come to confer wi’ you, Mr. Keelevin, for I would na trust the hair o’ a dog to the judgement o’ that tavert bodie, Gibby Omit, that gart me pay nine pounds seven shillings and saxpence too for the parchment; for it ne’er could be called an instrument, as it had na the pith o’ a windlestrae to bind the property; and over and aboon that, the bodie has lang had his back to the wa’, wi’ the ’poplexy; so that I maun put my trust in this affair into your hands, in the hope and confidence that ye’re able to mak something mair sicker.’

      ‘We’ll do our endeavour, Mr. Walkinshaw; hae ye made ony sort o’ scantling o’ what you would wish done?’

      ‘No, but I hae brought the teetles o’ the property in my pouch, and ye’ll just conform to them. As for the bit saving of lying money, we’ll no fash wi’ it for the present; I’m only looking to get a solid and right entail o’ the heritable.’

      ‘Nothing can be easier. Come as ye’re o’ an ancient family, no doubt your intent is to settle the Grippy on the male line; and, failing your sons and their heirs, then on the heirs of the body of your daughter.’

      ‘Just sae, just sae. I’ll make no change on my original disposition; only, as I would fain hae what cam by the gudewife made part and portion o’ the family heritage, and as her father’s settlement on Watty canna be broken without a great risk, I would like to begin the entail o’ the Grippy wi’ him.’

      ‘I see nothing to prevent that; ye could gie Charlie, the auld son, his liferent in’t, and as Watty, no to speak disrespectful of his capacity, may ne’er marry, it might be so managed.’

      ‘Oh, but that’s no what I mean, and what for may na Watty marry? Is na he o’ capacity to execute a deed, and surely that should qualify him to take a wife?’

      ‘But heavens preserve me, Mr. Walkinshaw, are ye sensible of the ill ye would do to that fine lad, his auld brother, that’s now a married man, and in the way to get heirs? Sic a settlement as ye speak o’ would be cutting him off a’ thegither: it would be most iniquitous!’

      ‘An it should be sae, the property is my own conquesting, Mr. Keelevin, and surely I may mak a kirk and a mill o’t an I like.’

      ‘Nobody, it’s true, Mr. Walkinshaw, has ony right to meddle wi’ how ye dispone of your own, but I was thinking ye maybe did na reflect that sic an entail as ye speak o’ would be rank injustice to poor Charlie, that I hae ay thought a most excellent lad.’

      ‘Excellent here, or excellent there, it was na my fault that he drew up wi’ a tocherless tawpy, when he might hae had Miss Betty Bodle.’

      ‘I am very sorry to hear he has displeased you; but the Fatherlans family, into whilk he has married, has ay been in great repute and estimation.’

      ‘Aye, afore the Ayr Bank; but the silly bodie the father was clean broken by that venture.’

      ‘That should be the greater reason, Mr. Walkinshaw, wi’ you to let your estate go in the natural way to Charlie.’

      ‘A’ that may be very true, Mr. Keelevin; I did na come here, however, to confer with you anent the like of that, but only of the law. I want you to draw the settlement, as I was saying; first, ye’ll entail it on Walter and his heirs-male, syne on Geordie and his heirs-male, and failing them, ye may gang back, to please yoursel, to the heirs-male o’ Charlie, and failing them, to Meg’s heirs-general.’

      ‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said the honest writer, after a pause of about a minute, ‘there’s no Christianity in this.’

      ‘But there may be law, I hope.’

      ‘I think, Mr. Walkinshaw, my good and worthy friend, that you should reflect well on this matter, for it is a thing by ordinare to do.’

      ‘But ye ken, Mr. Keelevin, when Watty dies, the Grippy and the Plealands will be a’ ae heritage, and will na that be a braw thing for my family?’

      ‘But what for would ye cut off poor Charlie from his rightful inheritance?’

      ‘Me cut him off frae his inheritance! When my grandfather brake on account o’ the Darien, then it was that he lost his inheritance. He’ll get frae me a’ that I inherited frae our forbears, and may be mair; only, I’ll no alloo he has ony heritable right on me, but what stands with my pleasure to gie him as an almous.’

      ‘But consider, he’s your own firstborn?’ —

      ‘Weel, then, what o’ that?’

      ‘And it stands with nature surely, Mr. Walkinshaw, that he should hae a bairn’s part o’ your gear.’

      ‘Stands wi’ nature, Mr. Keelevin? A coat o’ feathers or a pair o’ hairy breeks is a’ the bairn’s part o’ gear that I ever heard o’ in nature, as the fowls o’ the air and the beasts o’ the field can very plainly testify. – No, no, Mr. Keelevin, we’re no now in a state o’ nature but a state o’ law, and it would be an unco thing if we did na make the best o’t. In short, ye’ll just get the settlements drawn up as soon as a possibility will alloo, for it does

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