The Cecil Whig., 1874-12-19

his chair.
"And his name was Paul Benedict. He
invented something, and then he took it to
Robert Belcher, and he put into his MILL
and paid ,just-as- little -for-it as he-could.--
And then he invented something more, and
that went-into-the mill; and then some
thing more, and the patent was sold to
Mr.. Belcher for song, and the man grew
poorer and poor, while Mr. Belcher-grew
richer and richer all the time. And then
he invented gun, and then his little wife
died, and what with the expenses of doc
tors and funerals and such things, and the
money it took to get his patent, which, l.
begged -him-for-consciences -sake-to-keep
out-of: Robert Belcher' s-hands, he almost
starved with his little boy, and had to go
to Robert Belcher for money"
"And got it," said Mr.. Belcher.
"How much, now? A hundred little
dollars for what was worth hundred thou
sand, unless everybody lies. The whole
went in a day, and then he went crazy"
"Well, you know l sent him to the
asylum" responded MIR. Belcher.
"I know you did-yes, know you did;
and you tried to get him well enough to
sign a paper, which the doctor never would
let him sign, and which wouldn't have
been worth straw if he had signed it.
The-i -getting-a &C crazy man-to- sigma
paper ~
"Well but l wanted some security for
the money l had advanced" said Mr..
Belcher.
"No; you wanted legal possession of
property which would have made him rich;
that's what it was, and you didn't get it,
and you never will get it. He can't be
cured, and he's been sent back, and is up
at Tom Buffums now, and I've seen him
to-day"
Miss Butterworth expected that this
intelligence would stun Mr.. Belcher but it
did not.
The qualification of the man with the
news was unmistakable. Paul Benedict
had no relations or friends that he knew of.
All his dealings with him had been with
out witnesses. The only person living be-
sides Robert Belcher, who knew exactly
what had passed between his victim and
himself, was hopelessly insane. The diff
ference, to him, between obtaining posses
sion of valuable invention of a sane or
an insane man, was the difference between
paying money and paying none. In what
way, and with what profit, Mr.. Belcher
was avaling himself of Paul Benedict's
last invention, no one in Sevenoaks knew;
but all the town knew that he was getting
rich, apparently much faster than he ever
was before, and that, in a distant town,
there was mandatory of what was
known as "The Belcher Rifle
Mr.. Belcher concluded that he was still
master of the situation" Benedict's
testimony could not be taken in Il court of
Justice. The town itself was in his hands,
so that it would institute no suit on Bene
diets behalf, now that he had come upon
it for support; for the Tom Buffum to
whom Miss Butterworth had alluded was
the keeper of the poor-house, and was one
of his own creatures.
Miss Butterworth had sufficient sagacity
to comprehend the reasons of Mr.. Belcher's
change of look and manner, and saw that
her evenings mission would prove fruit
less; but her true woman's heart would not
permit her to relinquish her project.
els poor Benedict comfortable 9' he in
quired, in his old, off-hand way.
Comfortrble-yes, in the way that pigs
are'
"Pigs are very comfortable, believe, as
general thing said Mr.. Belcher.
"Bob Belcher," said Miss Butterworth,
the tears springing to her eyes in spite of
herself, and forgetting all the proprieties
she had determined to observe, "you are a
brute. You know you are a brute. He is
in little cell, no larger than-than-a
pig pen. There isn't bit of furniture in
it. He sleeps on the straw, and in the
straw, and under the straw, and his vict-
uals are poked at him as if he were a beast.
He is a poor, patient, emaciated wretch,
and he sits on the floor all day, and weaves
the most beautiful things out of the straw
he sits on, aud Tom Buffum's girls have
got them in the house for ornaments. And
he talks about his rifle, and explains it,
clothes are all in rags, and that little boy
of his that they have in the house, and
treat no better than if he were dog, knows
he is there, and goes and looks at him, and
lie TO aud oriaS ahonf h i'm, xUh Uhapavar
he dares. And you sit here, in your great
house, with your carpets and chairs, that
half smother you, and your looking glasses
and your fine clothes, and don't start to
your feet when | tell you this. | tell you
if God doesn't damn everybody who is
responsible for this wickedness, then there
is no such thing as God. :"
Miss Butterworth was angry. and had
grown more and more angry with every
word. She had brooded over the matter
all the afternoon, and her pent-up indigna-
ton had overfowed beyond control. She
felt that she had spoken truth which Rob
ert Be lcher ought to hear and to heed yet
she knew that she had lost her hold upon
est GOODNESS, while half smile overspread
his face.
"Don't you think I'm a pretty good ma
tured man to sit here said he, land hear
myself abused in this way, without getting
angry?'
"No, think you are a bad natured man.
think you are the hardest hearted and
worst man | ever saw. What in Gods
name has Paul Benedict done, that he
should be treated in this way? There are
dozen there just like him, or worse. Is
it crime to lose ones reason? l wish you
could spend one night in Paul Denedict's
reom.''
"Thank you. Iprefer my present quar-
ters"
Yes, you look around on your present
quarters, as you call em, and think you
always have 'em; you won't. Mark my