A Contest for Millions.

Hastings Standard, Issue 488, 29 November 1897, Page 4

A Contest for Millions.

The American correspondent of the Otago Daily Times says : —James G. Fair, mineowner and millionaire, departed this life, not exactly in the odour of sanctity, some two years ago. His life had been a checkered one. From a miner's tent to a superb mansion and all it implies is an extreme sufficiently great to embrace much the ordinary humdrum existence of the majority never experiences. But Fair never felt at home amid his silk and purple. Two everyday rooms in a down-town hotel were his abode for the last two years of bis life. Here he lived, and schemed, and died. His eldest son had died regretted by none, bis second son wound up a career known to every saloon in town by marrying the keeper of a notorious resort, his wife died after a life spent in oceans of champagne and "fun," and his two daughters are among the most exclusive of New York's exclusive set, and mix with the bluest blood of this or any other country. Fair died worth forty millions of dollars. At least so the papers said. But, as usual, the papers were wrong. Any business man kuew the value of many of Fair's later investments. Then the papers called it a twenty-million-dollar estate, although fifteen millions would be nearer the mark. Fair, careful man, left a will—an " ironclad" will it was called—one in which every possible and probable contingent was foreseen and adequately guarded against. There was to be no break-up of this will, at all events. Other millionaire estates may have been the prey for blackmailers, and blackmailing in every branch is a shamefully common crime in this country, but the Fair will drawn up by the best legal talent of the day would be as impugnable as Gibraltar. Alas ! there never was a will that had more opponents. The family oppose it, widows from all parts opposed it, rival claimants produced other wills, codicils tumbled out galore, and all the harpies who fatten on anything but genuine work clamoured for a share of the wretched coin. Most serious of all the counter claims was the one produced by a certain Mrs Nettie Craven, principal of one of the large schools in this city, a clever politician, a schemer, an adventuress, a woman of no morality, worth talking about, and the last person one would select as principal of a public school. However, there she was, and there, by the grace of her unmitigated impudence and the glorious freedom of our institutions, she stayed for many years drawing down her salary of £'6~) a month with most scrupulous punctuality even though absent for periods varying from a week to 12 months. This lady met the late James G. Fair, and she avers the late James G. Fair made her his wife, by contract, and deeded to her several valuable pieces of property bringing in a rental of oOOOdol a month. The genuineness of these pencil written deeds has been before the Superior Court of Sau Francisco for many months past. The best legal talent of the day was employed by the Craven side and other good men were employed by the Fair heirs. Very early in the ease the impression gained ground that the whole Craven business was a huge conspiracy to plunder the Fair estate of some million and a half dollars worth of property, and that the woman's case was about as unblushing a bit of fraud as had ever been brought into court. The one thing certain was that Mrs Nettie Craven must have lost her sense of shame —if she ever had it. No one knowing Fair's character doubts that immoral relations may have existed between the two ; but let us hope there are some women who, even for a million dollars worth of property, would die rather than parade it before the world. Even whilst the case was before the courts the woman's actions on the public streets one night were so disgusting that her dismissal from the post she had so long unworthily filled promptly followed. In San Francisco we do the most vulgar things so openly that our decency becomes in time degenerate. Therefore, when we read bow Mrs Craven came every day into court accompanied by her " beautiful " daughter, Margaret Craven, dressed in the height of fashion, and listened to all the nasty facts without a desire to tumble through the floor, we need not, being what we are, be surprised. Under any circumstances the most favorable to the woman she is presented as the secret wife of an old man, and therefore living in a relationship hardly calculated to make the "beautiful" Margaret's heart swell with pride. But the verdict of the court —a verdict accepted as just by the decent element of the community—was that the deeds were forgeries and nothing else, and so the first great assault on Fair's , estate tumbled to bits. The lawyers talk loudly about appeal, but unless some one can be found to put up the money I do not think there will be many appeals. Mrs Craven has not any money, the lawyers took the case on a contingent fee, and it will be many months before the case could be again brought forward. Not that they intend to cease their assaults on the millions of money lying around, but other tactics will, it- is affirmed, be tried. Mrs Craven will now seek to establish the authenticity of her marriage contract, which, if genuine, entitles her to her share in the dead man's wealth, will or no will.