The Entail; or, The Lairds of Grippy. John Galt
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 na do to lose time wi’ sic things, as ye ken, and I’ll come in wi’ Watty neest market day and get them implemented.’
‘Watty’s no requisite,’ said Mr. Keelevin, somewhat thoughtfully; ‘it can be done without him. I really wish ye would think better o’t before we spoil any paper.’
‘I’m no fear’t about the paper, in your hands, Mr. Keelevin,—ye’ll do every thing right wi’ sincerity,—and mind, an it should be afterwards found out that there are ony flaws in the new deed, as there were in the auld, which the doited creature Gibby Omit made out, I’ll gar you pay for’t yoursel; so tak tent, for your own sake, and see that baith Watty’s deed and mine are right and proper in every point of law.’
‘Watty’s! what do you mean by Watty’s?’
‘Have na I been telling you that it’s my wis that the Plealands and the Grippy should be made one heritage, and is na Watty concos mancos enough to be conjunct wi’ me in the like o’ that? Ye ken the flaw in his grandfather’s settlement, and that, though the land has come clear and clean to him, yet it’s no sae tethered but he may wise it awa as it likes him to do, for he’s noo past one-and-twenty. Therefore, what I want is, that ye will mak a paper for him, by the whilk he’s to ’gree that the Plealands gang the same gait, by entail, as the Grippy.’
‘As in duty bound, Mr. Walkinshaw, I maun do your will in this business,’ said Mr. Keelevin; ‘but really I ken na when I hae been more troubled about the specialities of any settlement. It’s no right o’ you to exercise your authority oure Watty; the lad’s truly no in a state to be called on to implement ony such agreement as what ye propose. He should na be meddled wi’, but just left to wear out his time in the world, as little observed as possible.’
‘I canna say, Mr. Keelevin, that I like to hear you misliken the lad sae, for did na ye yourself, with an ettling of pains that no other body could hae gane through but yoursel, prove, to the satisfaction of the Fifteen at Edinburgh, that he was a young man of a very creditable intellect, when Plealands’ will was contested by his cousin?’
‘Waes me, Mr. Walkinshaw, that ye should cast up to me the sincerity with which I did but my duty to a client. However, as ye’re bent on this business, I’ll say na mair in objection, but do my best to make a clear and tight entail, according to your instructions—trusting that I shall be accounted hereafter as having been but the innocent agent; and yet I beg you again, before it’s oure late, to reflect on the consequence to that fine lad Charlie, who is now the head of a house, and in the way of having a family—It’s an awfu’ thing ye’re doing to him.’
‘Weel, weel, Mr. Keelevin, as I was saying, dinna ye fash your thumb, but mak out the papers in a sicker manner,—and may be though ye think sae ill o’ me, it winna be the waur for Charlie after a’s come and gane.’
‘It’s in the Lord’s power certainly,’ replied the worthy lawyer piously, ‘to make it all up to him.’
‘And maybe it’s in my power too, for when this is done, I’ll hae to take another cast o’ your slight o’ hand in the way of a bit will for the moveables and lying siller, but I would just like this to be weel done first.’
‘Man, Laird, I’m blithe to hear that,—but ye ken that ye told me last year when you were clearing the wadset that was left on the Grippy, that ye had na meikle mair left—But I’m blithe to hear ye’re in a condition to act the part of a true father to a’ your bairns, though I maun say that I canna approve, as a man and a frien’, of this crotchet of entailing your estate on a haverel, to the prejudice of a braw and gallant lad like Charlie. Hows’ever, sin’ it is sae, we’ll say nae mair about it.