"You'm going to say this place be vull o' liars," suggested Sidney.
"Oh no, indeed! Our friendship is quite over, and you are not to come near Windward House again."
"What's it all about, Nellie?"
"You know perfectly well. I'm walking with you this evening just to hear what you have to say."
"You think I'm a bad lot?"
"I'm getting dreadfully certain of it."
"Because you've heard tales. I know you'm the prettiest maid in the world, but if a stranger wur with us he wouldn't believe me if I said so, vor 'tis too dark to see you. You can't be sure of anything you'm told. I'm not the best chap in the world by a long way, but if you could see me 'just as I am,' as we wur singing in church just now, you might fancy I b'ain't quite what folks make me out to be."
Nellie was disturbed by this speech, and still more by the manner in which it was uttered. She had an uncomfortable feeling that Sidney was trying to bring himself down to her level, although her birth and education were undoubtedly superior to his.
"I suppose it's easy to sing like that, especially as you must have had no end of practice," she said crossly.
"Now you'm out o' tune, Nellie."
"Miss Blisland has discovered you have made a fool of her. You asked her to—to—well, you know what, when all the time you are married—"
"Here, I say, steady! I didn't know it had got to that," he broke in sharply.
"Then who was that girl who came to see you?"
"She's not a girl. If you want to know her age, I'll tell you. She is forty-three—and I'm nineteen. Is it likely I'd be married to a lady old enough to be my mother?"
"Who is she?"
"A very kind lady who has done a lot vor me. Her name is Mrs. Stanley."
"Then she is married!"
"Her husband's been very kind to me too."
"And I suppose you are very fond of her?"
"Well, that's natural, considering what she's done vor me."
"You love her!" cried Nellie, getting out of patience with his coldness.
"There's someone I love better."
"And that's yourself," she snapped.
"'Tis the pretty maid I'm going to marry, and that's you."
"If you dare to say such a thing again," gasped Nellie, "I'll—I'll run away."
"You can run t'other end of the world, but I shall come and fetch ye back," declared the bold youth.
"What's to prevent me from marrying someone else?"
"Yourself, I fancy."
"But I never did like you much, and now I hate you," she said, troubled again by his accent, which recalled her own superior education.
"If you won't hate me any more than what you do now, I shan't grumble," replied the confident young man. Then he asked gently, "Won't you come out Sunday afternoon?"
"No, I will not."
"I could tell you a tale what might make us sweethearts again," he continued.
"I expect there is hardly any sort of tale that you don't know. But why don't you?"
"I'm going to make you believe in me and trust me."
"Tell that to Mrs. Stanley—I'm sure she's a widow."
"I trust her, and she knows it. I told her about you, and she wanted me to promise not to marry till I'm twenty-five."
"By then, I suppose, she'll have become sick and tired of you," said Nellie, who was rapidly forming Highfield opinions about Mrs. Stanley.
"She doesn't mind who I marry—"
"How perfectly unselfish!"
"So long as 'tis the right sort o' maid."
"I hope you'll find her. Goodnight; I'm going now," said Nellie, standing beside the garden-gate of Windward House. Then she added rather faintly, "I'm sorry you ever came to Highfield."
Sidney struck a match and, making a lantern of his hands, turned the light upon her face.
"Oh, Nellie darling! There's a tear upon your cheek!"
"Don't be rude and wicked," she murmured, searching for the gate handle, which she generally found quite easily.
"The beautifullest tear from the loveliest eye in the world!"
"What's wrong with the other eye?" she asked trying to laugh.
"It's still more lovely. Nellie, you are—just Nellie, and that means everything. You shall trust me, and I'll make you love me, if I have to work a thousand times harder than I do on the farm."
"Will you have nothing more to do with Mrs. Stanley?"
"I can't do that."
"You mean she won't give you up!"
"She's the best and kindest lady in the world. But you come first, and that's where you'll be always."
"I must be second too. It's no good, Sidney. I'm not going to be talked about and laughed at—no girl can stand it. Besides, Mrs. Drake has forbidden me to speak to you, and my poor mistress would go crazy if she knew what has happened. I have a good home, and I must think of my future. Leave me alone, please, and let me forget you. But I must give up the choir and sit at the bottom of the church, for I—I can't sing any more."
"Is that you, Nellie?" called Kezia; and the faithful band of protectors and consolers appeared, putting the false Sidney to flight.
George was so pleased when Nellie did not go out upon Sunday afternoon, that he presented her with a picture of his latest locomotive, very handsomely designed, but without cylinders. He began about this time to take an interest in his personal appearance, with the result that Mrs. Drake, who was not at all prejudiced in his favour, remarked to Kezia that Mr. George was undoubtedly the best looking man in the place, which, after all, was not much of a compliment. Kezia, who was a Drake in everything but surname, and contemplated assuming that to supply her own deficiency, agreed, and went on to mention Mr. George was regarded as the perfect pattern of an English gentleman by Highfield, where all geese were swans.
Mrs. Drake was simple enough to believe George was preparing himself for the duties of station-master, and he more than suggested this was indeed the case; having the impudence to hint at negotiations for various stations where it would be his business to receive all manner of royalties; but the letters he received were of such a confidential nature that he was not at liberty to show them to his aunt. He convinced her they were all typewritten, and this was quite sufficient for his purpose, because the old-fashioned woman supposed letters written by machinery could emanate only from departments under the immediate control of Ministers of State.
The cold-blooded George had drawn up a programme of his career under such items as Courtship of Nellie, Annihilation of Sidney, Conciliation of Aunt, Guarding of the Furniture, Departure of Aunt Sophy, Contract with Nellie, Departure of Aunt, Marriage and Retirement. With fine prophetic instinct a date was appended to each one of these events: Miss Yard had but a single year of life remaining, while three more years were allotted to Mrs. Drake. So far the programme was well ahead of time, owing to the visit of Mrs. Stanley.
The careful mind of George was troubled concerning his forthcoming marriage and subsequent retirement. He asked himself frequently whether it could be prudent to enter into a matrimonial alliance with Nellie, or indeed with any girl; was a wife preferable on the whole to a housekeeper? George sought the opinion of the Dismal Gibcat, who replied that the house presided over by a wife was bound to be respectable, while the house ruled by spinster or widow was not; besides, a housekeeper could not be scowled at with impunity, whereas a wife might easily be taught all the accomplishments of her husband: that was to say, if the husband found it necessary to slander another man, or to deprive some woman of her character, the partner of his joys and sorrows would slander these persons too; whereas a housekeeper might find it her duty to defend them.
Then George consulted the Yellow Leaf, who was of the decidedly robust opinion that men and women should not only marry as early as possible, but should keep on doing it as often as the law allowed; and even if they did offend against the law sometimes it was better to err upon the right side. He alluded to his own brilliant example of marrying at eighteen, with the happy result that the entire population of the village were more or less related to him; and he went on to declare he had already appointed a successor to his present wife, who had been bedridden for some years.
Although George had some doubts remaining, he arrived sorrowfully at the conclusion that it would be his duty to make Nellie happy, if the ladies of Windward House should respect his programme and depart from the world according to scheduled time. The question of his retirement remained the only point to be disposed of. Should he conclude a life of usefulness as the most respected parishioner of Highfield, or favour a wider circle? Certainly it would be more agreeable to retire in a village, where respect came automatically, than to run the risk of being dishonoured in some town, where standing at corners or musing beside lamp posts might be wrongly construed as revealing instability of character.
It might, he feared, become necessary to commence his retirement within the next few months, for Mrs. Drake was clearly in a restless frame of mind, and the impending failure of his negotiations with the railway company might induce her to issue the expulsion order which Percy would be called upon to execute. In such case George decided his health would be forced to suffer a breakdown, although it might be possible, now Mrs. Drake's powers were growing defective, to assure her his career upon the railway was finished; but, unfortunately, owing to his inability to serve full time, he enjoyed no pension.
A wet day assisted George in making a discovery which, although not altering his programme, seemed to promise an extension of the indefinite time limit.
"I want to go to the sea. Aunt Sophy worries so about her friends, and I can't make her believe she hasn't got any. She will forget all about them if we go away. When are you going to your station?" asked Mrs. Drake, while Miss Yard looked up plaintively and wanted to know what she had done now.
"Oh, nothing. I'm telling George we are going to the seaside directly he is ready to leave."
"I think you had better not wait," said George warningly.
"You promised to go this month," his aunt said fretfully.
"Changes have occurred, with the result that I have now broken off the negotiations."
"Then I have done with you!"
"I'm so glad somebody else has broken something," said Miss Yard happily.
George left the room, and returned presently with an armful of plans and diagrams.
"I knew they existed, and at last I have found them," he remarked triumphantly.
"Take away your rubbish!" said Mrs. Drake.
"My uncle made these plans. These diagrams were the solace of his closing years," said George; and directly he had spoken his aunt's face softened, and she fumbled for her spectacles.
"My dear uncle charged me to carry out the work if he should not live to complete it. These are his plans for a railway to link up the scattered parishes of this moorland region. It is my earnest hope," said George, "that I may be permitted to undertake the work which is to give Dartmoor a railway and Highfield a station."
"I had forgotten all about it," Mrs. Drake murmured.
"I did not forget," said George reprovingly. "I should have acted long ago, if I could have found these precious plans. Here is the prospectus in dear uncle's writing. He shows how simple and inexpensive it would be to build a railway across the Dartmoor, without a single viaduct, tunnel, embankment, or cutting. It was his intention to make Highfield Station a terminus, as he could not see his way to surmount the steep drop into the valley without going to considerable expense. Now you can understand why it is no longer my intention to occupy the poorly paid position of station-master. I aim at higher things. I mean to be a railway magnate."
"What can you do?" asked Mrs. Drake, much impressed by those relics of her husband.
"I shall communicate with my railway friends; I shall float a company, and appoint a Board of Directors; I shall pass a Bill through Parliament."
"Whatever is George doing?" inquired Miss Yard.
"Making a railway," replied her sister.
"I wish I could do something half as useful," sighed Miss Yard.
George borrowed five pounds for postage stamps, converted his bedroom into an office, and fed the village with false news which percolated into the ears of Mrs. Drake by means of Robert the dripping tap and Kezia the filter. George had anticipated this, and, knowing the truthful ways of the village, was not greatly astonished when Robert informed him in confidence how engineers had already been seen taking the level of the Dartmoor heights; while the parishioners had sworn to tear up the railway as fast as it was made, unless they received ample compensation for this cynical infringement of their rights.
What he had not anticipated was the action taken by his aunt. Left to herself she would have remained credulous to the end; but Kezia declared Mr. George was not spending his days letter writing; while Bessie stated the postmistress had told her Mr. George had bought no stamps lately.
"I have looked into his room and seen him writing," said Mrs. Drake despairingly.
"He wur doing poetry, mum," said Kezia sadly.
"Oh, I'm sure he's not so bad as that," cried the lady.
"I don't want to say too much, mum, and I ain't going to say anything against Mr. George, whom you might call a member of the family," continued Kezia in the voice of doom, "but I saw a lot of the paper he had wrote some of his poetry on."
"I saw it too, mum," chimed in Bessie.
"And, mum, at the end of the first line wur six kisses."
"Crosses, mum," exclaimed Bessie, as an expert in this form of literature.
"And the second line—oh, mum, I don't know as how I can say it."
"Shall I do it vor ye?" asked Bessie eagerly.
"No, Bess, I'll do it. He said, mum, his heart wur all jelly."
"Think of that, mum!" gasped Bessie.
"Oh no! Not jelly again. We had yesterday," cried Miss Yard, who liked to be consulted concerning the bill of fare.
"I do hope the poor creature isn't going off his head," said Mrs. Drake.
"Don't you see, mum, that word wur meant to sound like the word at the end of the first line what he wrote in crosses. And you know, mum, there's someone in this house whose name do have the same sort of sound as jelly."
"Ah, but she b'ain't so soft," added Bessie. "And he wrote she was so bewitching, drinking cocoa in the kitchen. That was a rhyme, mum."
"I have heard quite enough," said Mrs. Drake wearily. "I wish to goodness I had never seen the fellow," she murmured.
The following week she visited the Captain's grave, staying longer than usual, and scribbling industriously on scraps of paper the whole evening. Next day the exodus took place, Kezia and Nellie accompanying the ladies to the seaside, while George remained in solitary possession. As any pretence of industry was no longer necessary, he settled down to enjoy a honeymoon with indolence, until a letter arrived to waken him completely.
It appeared that Mrs. Drake had written to Percy, informing him of all George had said and not done; also asking for information about the floating of companies and the construction of railways, as, she explained, George had decided to build one across Dartmoor, and was inviting Miss Yard and herself to become debenture holders.
Percy's answer had crushed the poor lady entirely. He explained that, as George of course was perfectly well aware, to obtain a position as station-master it would be necessary to enter the service of the railway company as a clerk, and work upwards gradually. As for building a railway, that was not the recreation of a single individual, but a superhuman undertaking, which in the first place would require to be discussed by some of the greatest financial magnates upon earth for half a century—at least such was his own impression—before Parliament could even be approached; and then another half century would probably be demanded for the arrangement of preliminary details; and after that a new generation would have to begin the work all over again. While the suggestion of a railway across Dartmoor could appeal only to a Parliament with a sense of humour.
Accordingly Mrs. Drake disowned her nephew. She ordered him to depart from Highfield, declaring also her intention of not returning to Windward House while he remained there. For his maintenance she was prepared to allow the sum of ten shillings weekly so long as she might live. Should he delay in taking his departure, Percy would instruct some gentleman learned in the law to hasten the eviction. And if he took anything in the house away with him, he would thereby forfeit all benefits under her will.
This letter made the world seem cold to George, who strongly suspected Percy had dictated the punitory clauses. It was clear that his reign as first gentleman of Highfield was over. Not being of that faint-hearted disposition which abdicates without a struggle, George wrote a touching letter which was also, he considered, a complete vindication of his conduct; for, as Mrs. Drake must have been aware, he had suffered from his spine since childhood.
Then he packed his belongings and travelled an hour's journey into the next parish, where he arranged with the landlord of a wayside inn, which bore the hospitable title of "Drink and be Thankful," to accommodate him with board and lodging upon especially reduced terms; and from this alcoholic address he despatched a daily apology for his existence to Mrs. Drake, each document more poignant than the one preceding it. His aunt sent a cheque for a quarter's allowance, which George cashed gratefully; but she did not write. That business was entrusted to Percy, who sent an ultimatum, giving George forty-eight hours to retire from the "Drink and be Thankful," and warning him that, if at any future time he should be discovered within twenty miles of Highfield village without obtaining a permit, his prospects would be marred considerably.
George pronounced a malediction against Percy and all his tomatoes. Then, as compliance seemed necessary—for he was terribly afraid his aunt might destroy her will—he decided to make a farewell visit to Highfield, in order that he might muse amid the scenes of his former slothfulness, and inform the villagers he was going away to oppose on their behalf the promoters of the Dartmoor Railway Company.
George was not surprised to discover the door of Windward House standing open, as he supposed Bessie would be cleaning; but he was considerably astonished to behold Miss Yard nodding in the parlour, with Nellie on her knees hard by extracting the indifferent lady from a web of wool which, with amazing thoroughness, she had wound about herself. George made a sign to the girl not to disturb her mistress, but to follow him as soon as possible into the garden.
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, hastily, adding that he was not at all sorry to see her.
"Miss Sophy was so miserable I had to bring her back. When we went away she thought she was going back to her old home; and then, when she couldn't recognise anybody she kept on saying she was forsaken. She would stop people in the street and ask them where she lived, and if they didn't remember her. As she got worse every day I had to bring her back. Aren't you living here now?" asked Nellie.
"No," said George sadly. "You gave me no encouragement."
"So you waited until I was out of the house, and then you ran away!"
"My aunt and I have now agreed to differ. How did you leave her?" asked George pompously.
"Oh, very well. In fact, Kezia said she had not seen her in such good health for years."
"Miss Yard is breaking up, I think," said George, thinking of his programme, which was suffering sadly from interference.
"Indeed she's not. She is just mazed after the journey, as they say about here. Then you are really not going to live here again?"
"Not for the present. But I shall write to you, Nellie, at least once a week, and I shall think of you nearly every day."
"Thank you. Are you going to turn blacksmith?"
"Why do you ask a ridiculous question?"
"We have been playing at rhymes lately; and the only rhyme I can find for your name is forge."
"Nellie," said George heavily, "it is frivolous conduct like this which breaks a man up completely."
"I'll be serious then. When are you coming back?"
"Not until the place becomes my own. My aunt has injured me; she has upset all my plans. I do not intend to speak to her again until she has asked for my forgiveness."
"There goes the gate!" cried Nellie. "It's sure to be Bessie. If you don't want to be seen here—run!" she laughed.
"I do not stir for Elizabeth Mudge."
"Or budge for any man," sang teasing Nellie. Then her note changed, for the postmistress appeared from behind the rhododendrons.
"Why, it's Mrs. Cann! And she's got a telegram!"
"Vor you, Miss Blisland. Very bad news, miss. Terrible news. But she wur an old lady, and 'tis better to be took avore you knows where you be than to see it coming. I hopes and prays as how I'll be took the like way—selling a penny stamp, or licking a label, or doing some poor soul a gude turn by giving her an old-age pension."
She went rambling on, while Nellie tore open the telegram and read, "Mistress passed away in her sleep. Kezia."
She shivered slightly, then handed it to George.
"Cruel bad news vor you, sir, especially as we'm all so sorry to hear you be a leaving us," said the postmistress.
"I had meant to go away," replied the self-sacrificing and sorrowful reprobate. "But I'm afraid I shall have to change my plans now."
George formally took over Windward House, with the exception of his aunt's bedroom, the door of which was locked. Bessie admitted she held the key, but was not going to give it up to anybody except Kezia. In the meantime, Miss Yard wandered about the house, declaring that Maria had always been able to look after herself, scolding Nellie for wearing black, "and making yourself look so small I can't see you," driving away Bessie by waving her hands and calling "Shoo!" but delighted with George because he looked bright and cheerful.
"Maria has been making up the past again," she said plaintively. "She told me I was good for nothing, and she wouldn't have me here any longer. She keeps all my friends away from me—and now she has hidden my money."
"We'll look for it," said Nellie, glad of the excuse to lure her back into the parlour. "I expect it is hidden in one of the usual places—inside the clock, or on top of the bookcase."
"It's no good looking there, Nellie. I have searched the whole house—and my cheque-book has gone too. My sister takes everything away from me."
A pleasant quarter of an hour was spent in searching for the missing bag of money, which had been secreted with more than usual ingenuity. These games of hide-and-seek were of daily occurrence, as Miss Yard would hide away everything she possessed, and then accuse the others of robbery by violence. On this occasion the little bag containing her spare cash had been deposited behind the register; George made the discovery after noticing a heap of soot upon the fender; and Miss Yard was more delighted with him than ever.
"Percy always does the right thing," she declared. "He wrote to that horrid man who said he was going to come and live here. Nellie, remind me tomorrow to pay off a mortgage on his railway."
"Percy grows tomatoes, Aunt. I am George, and I'm here to look after you," explained that gentleman uncomfortably.
"How silly people are!" said Miss Yard. "Of course it's tomatoes, and not railways. I don't know why they talk about railways, but I suppose it's because Nellie and I missed a train the other day. Everybody mixes up George and Percy, but one is quite as good as the other. One quality only, and that's the best. Now I wonder where I read that."
Then she opened the canvas bag and gave George ten shillings because he was so clever; and she gave a sovereign to Nellie because she was so good; but she refused to give Bessie a present, as she felt positive that young woman had conspired with Mrs. Drake to hide away her money.
"I must write to Maria and tell I've found it, and ask her to forget the past like I do and begin all over again," she said, shuffling to her writing table, where nearly every day she wrote letters which Nellie subsequently destroyed.
"Don't try to make her understand," said this young lady to George. "I have told her Mrs. Drake is dead, and she quite realised it, but a minute later had forgotten all about it. It's no use worrying her. She has no memory, and hardly any mind, left; but she is perfectly healthy and enjoys life thoroughly. Really, it isn't such a bad state to be in after all."
George rather looked forward to the funeral, as he meant to enjoy a settlement with Percy, who arrived only just in time to join the others in the churchyard. Mrs. Drake's bedroom had been opened the day before: George discovered the will, while Kezia made off with the box which had always stood upon the chest of drawers.
After the ceremony they returned to Windward House. Presently George and Percy went into the garden to discuss business, assuming a brotherly affection, although George felt sure Percy entertained nothing but evil thoughts concerning him.
"That was rather a nasty letter you wrote to me, old chap—about clearing out of the place, you know," he began reproachfully.
"Aunt asked me to write it, and of course I had to. I don't want to rub it in, George, but you deceived the old lady badly, and you've been a frightful slacker," replied Percy.
"If it comes to deceit, I expect you put your best tomatoes on top of the basket," said George, opening a line of attack which made Percy cough uneasily, before he attempted to point out the difference between deceiving hostile tradesmen and affectionate relatives. "What do you propose doing?" he asked.
"This is my home," replied George firmly. "Somebody must be here to look after Aunt Sophy, keep up the property, and look after the servants."
"I suppose the place belongs to Aunt Sophy now, and in that case it will come to me," said Percy sternly.
"Grab it all, old chap!" exclaimed George mockingly.
"It's like this," said Percy sharply. "I'm one of the trustees of the Yard estate, and Hunter is the other. I dare say you have heard the aunts mention Hunter; he's a partner in Martin and Cross, the family solicitors. I needn't go into the details of Mr. Yard's will, but of course you know Aunt Maria enjoyed only a life interest in her share. Aunt Sophy now inherits the lot, but she can't touch the capital, all of which comes to me at her death. That's the position."
"And here's mine! Oblige me by running your eye over this, my dear chap," invited George, producing his aunt's will.
Percy did so, frowning considerably, and when he had finished tried to mutter a few words of congratulation.
"Not so bad," chuckled George. "The whole place is mine, and everything in it. Aunt Sophy is now my tenant."
"There's no mention of the house," objected Percy.
"Read this—'all I die possessed of.' The property belonged to aunt; left her by my uncle."
"But she bought the ground and built the house," cried Percy.
"Out of income," said the triumphant George.
"I suppose you'll be sending this to Martin and Cross?"
"It goes this evening by registered post. Aunt Sophy won't leave Highfield. She will be enjoying the use of my house and my furniture. In return she can give me board and pocket-money. Quite a decent scheme, old chap. Everybody satisfied! No grumblers!"
"I didn't know anything about this will," muttered Percy.
"You can't object to my staying here now—you can't order me out, my dear old chap. Nice little property, isn't it?" cried George riotously.
Percy had not much more to say, especially as he seemed in a hurry to catch a train which would carry him towards London and Mr. Hunter's office. Immediately he had departed, Kezia approached and asked, "Can I speak to you vor a minute, please?"
"Certainly," replied the prosperous George, following her into the dining room, where Bessie towered beside the table upon which reposed the sandalwood box taken from the late mistress's bedroom. George could not help noticing what a quantity of waste paper appeared to be lying about.
"This wur lying on the top," explained Kezia, presenting a slip upon which was written in his late aunt's handwriting, "This box is the property of Kezia, who has served me faithfully since her childhood."
"I ha' been wi' her forty years, and I don't know how I shall get along without her. I feels as though she can't be gone vor ever, and will soon be coming back again maybe," Kezia continued.
"She knows what be going on. She can see me, and you, and Mr. George, and she can tell what he'm thinking of," added Bessie.
"Went just like the Captain, all to once and no fuss. She said to me many a time, 'I wants to go like him, Kezia, nice and quick.' So she did, poor dear! Lay down, and went to sleep, and never woke up again this side Jordan. And the last thing she said wur, 'Kezia, I ain't felt so well as I be feeling now vor I can't tell ye how long.'"
"They'm always like that," said Bessie.
"What are all these papers?" asked George.
"These be mine," said Kezia, taking one bundle. "Those belong to Bess. This one is vor Miss Sophy. And this one is vor Nellie."
"Wasn't there one vor Mr. Percy?" inquired Bessie.
"Here's something on the floor," said George. He picked up the scrap of paper and read, "I should like Percy to have something to remember me by. He can take the pair of silver candlesticks given me by his mother as a wedding present."
"He can't have them," said Bessie, looking across at Kezia.
"No, that he can't," said Kezia, staring rather uneasily at Bessie.
"What are all these papers?" George demanded, feeling in his pocket, to make sure that the will was safe.
"Will ye please to read 'em?" replied Kezia, extending her bundle.
George opened the first and read, "I want Kezia to have all the furniture in her bedroom, also six dining room chairs, my sofa, and the largest bookcase." The second paper included, for Kezia's benefit, much of the furniture in the parlour, together with "the pair of silver candlesticks given me by Louisa as a wedding present." The third paper mentioned most of the articles in Mrs. Drake's bedroom, with the grandfather clock, the Chinese vases, "and anything else Mr. George does not want." And so the lists ran on, until Kezia had been left everything in the house several times over.
Then Bessie proffered her bundle with a sorrowful smile. First of all she was to have the bed she had once slept on, then all the furniture in her bedroom, much of that in the parlour, half of that in the dining room, with "the pair of silver candlesticks given me by Louisa as a wedding present," most of the ornaments including the Chinese vases, the Egyptian mummy, and "any other little thing Mr. George does not care about."
Nellie was to have the round table in the parlour, which had been already bestowed upon both Kezia and Bessie. While Sophy was requested to take the musical box and "the pair of silver candlesticks given me as a wedding present by Louisa."
"This is a nice business!" George muttered.
"Seems to be rather a lot of mixing up, don't it!" said Bessie.
"I can see what has happened," George continued. "Poor old aunt never had much of a memory, and, when she put away one of these papers in the box, she forgot about the others. Some of them were written when I was a child—the ink is beginning to fade—while others are quite recent."
"She would write 'em in the evening. I've seen her doing it. And when she went into her bedroom, she would put it into the box quick and lock it up. She wouldn't let no one touch that box," said Kezia.
"You see she wanted to leave you something to remember her by, and she never looked into the box to see what she had written."
"I suppose we mustn't take the things now?" asked Bessie hurriedly.
"Nothing wur to be touched, Bess, while Miss Sophy lived. Even Mr. George warn't to touch anything," said Kezia with unnecessary irony; since, according to these scraps of paper, George had nothing to take.
"I have the will which was made soon after I came to live with my uncle and aunt. There is no mention of Miss Yard," said George firmly.
"Mrs. Drake wrote a paper and gave it to Miss Sophy. And Miss Sophy wrote a paper and gave it to Mrs. Drake. Here it is!" exclaimed Kezia, diving to the bottom of the box, which contained brooches and other trinkets dropped in from time to time. "You see, Mr. George,' If I die before Maria, all my furniture is to belong to her.' And 'tis signed Sophy Yard."
"What did my aunt write on her paper?" cried George, as a horrible thought flashed across his mind.
"Just the same. If she died avore Miss Sophy, everything she possessed wur to belong to her."
"And she has died before Aunt Sophy after all," George muttered.
"Why, so she has! I never thought of that avore," said Bessie.
George refused to discuss the matter further, pointing out that nothing could be done during Miss Yard's lifetime, although he had no intention of remaining inactive until then. Escaping into a quiet place, he sought to find a solution of the problem thus suddenly presented to him. By a properly attested will the entire furniture of Windward House had been left to him; this furniture had been left also to Miss Yard by a rough kind of agreement; the same furniture had been bestowed upon Kezia by means of a number of scraps of paper which were certainly not legal documents; while the greater part of the furniture had been also bequeathed to Bessie by means of similar scraps of paper. The conclusion arrived at by George was that the will must prevail over all other documents, although it was difficult to see how he could prevent pilfering; and his final wise decision was to preserve silence concerning these scraps of paper in all his subsequent dealings with Messrs. Martin and Cross and Mr. Percy Taverner.
"I feel sure Kezia and Bessie cannot claim anything, but I'm afraid the lawyers may say the will is cancelled by the document given to Aunt Sophy," George muttered. "But then they needn't know anything about it. All the business will be done through the trustees and myself. They don't know, and I shan't tell them. I'd better strike up a friendship with Percy; I'll conciliate him; I'll sacrifice the pair of silver candlesticks."
He went home, sealed the will in an envelope, and addressed it to Messrs. Martin and Cross. Then wrote to Percy, explaining his discovery of a scrap of paper written by their late aunt, expressing a wish that the candlesticks should be given to him upon her death. "Of course they are mine really," he wrote, "but I feel that I ought to respect her wishes, especially as the candlesticks were given her as a wedding present by your mother."
Kezia and Bessie remained chattering vigorously after George departed from them, but neither ventured to speak upon the subject which threatened to convert friendship into rivalry. It was true, owing to an unfortunate slip of the tongue, Bessie mentioned how grand the silver candlesticks would look upon her mantelpiece; but Kezia merely replied that Mrs. Drake had been very generous to Mr. George in leaving him a will as a remembrance of her, although she presently administered a rebuke by speaking about her future retirement, when she looked forward to reading her books of religious instruction by the light of wax candles set in the candlesticks aforesaid. To which Bessie replied somewhat feebly they wouldn't be of any use to Miss Yard because she used a reading lamp. She could not trust herself to say more, but, when gathering up her share of the testamentary documents preparatory to departure, another idea occurred, and she asked, "Who do the house belong to?"
"Mrs. Drake said to me a lot of times it wur to go to Miss Sophy."
"Who gets it when she dies?"
"I don't know. If nobody else wants it, I don't mind taking it," said Kezia.
"Mr. George is sure to ask vor it," said Bessie, moving slowly towards the door.
"Well, he won't get it," replied Kezia sharply.
Bessie crossed the road and welcomed Robert from the bakery with the announcement that a domestic crisis was impending. Robert studied the documents, and agreed with his wife they would certainly be called upon to fight for their rights. Then he asked for information concerning George, and Bessie replied, "He ain't to get nothing."
"Didn't Mrs. Drake leave 'en a will?" questioned the cautious Robert.
"Kezia ses it ain't really a will. It's a codicil, and that means he gets nothing 'cept the little bit o' money in the bank, and he'll have to pay out all that vor the funeral expenses. Miss Sophy gets the house, and me and Kezia has the furniture."
"Then Mr. George is ruined!" exclaimed Robert.
"Best thing what could happen to 'en," said Bessie.
Robert had his tea, then went out into the village to report. Since the days when he had first gazed upward, fascinated by the altitude of Bessie's windswept features, he had acted as an intermediary between Windward House and the general public, bringing the scandal, fresh and greasy as his own doughnuts; and bearing to the village green—which was not so green as it sounded, for the signpost represented a rising sun—valuable items of information regarding Mrs. Drake's most recent act of charity, or Miss Yard's latest partition of a tea service. On this occasion he brought news which was to set all the tongues wagging: George Drake, the most respected man in Highfield, the sole gentleman, the fearless idler, was now a homeless fellow, a destitute person, without a scrap of inheritance he could call his own. The Drake whom they had honoured as a swan was hardly worth the price of a goose.
A gentleman was not defined by the worthies of Highfield as a man of good birth, but as one who declined all labour. George had fulfilled this definition admirably. An idler, it was argued, possessed ample means, and for that cause he was respected. Highfield required nothing further of him, except that he should wear decent clothing and not be seen with his coat off, digging potatoes or nailing two pieces of board together; even the picking of peas was a dangerous pastime, while mowing the lawn would have meant an irremediable loss of caste. It could honestly be said of George that he had done nothing disgraceful; he had kept his hands clean; he was far more of a gentleman than his uncle had been. And now he was exposed as a common impostor who had been wearing an order of chivalry to which he was not entitled.
"I always thought," said the Wallower in Wealth, who, above all men, had respected George, "that when Mrs. Drake died he would have her money."
Everybody in the place had thought the same; and were now to realise that George had bitterly deceived them.
"He don't get nothing," declared Robert. "The furniture comes to Bessie, and the house goes to Miss Yard."
"What do old Kezia get?" inquired a charitable voice.
"What me and Bessie like to give her," replied Robert.
George went to sleep that night sure of his position as the most popular man in Highfield parish; for everybody knew how the odious scheme of a Dartmoor railway had been brought to nothing owing to his strenuous opposition. Nor did he suppose, upon going into the village the following morning, that his glory had departed. He was therefore unpleasantly surprised to be greeted by nodding of heads, and no longer by hands uplifted to the forehead. Highfield nodded to equals, and touched hats to superiors. George did not like the omen.
The Yellow Leaf was enjoying a large slice of bread upon which butter, cream, and jam were piled in lavish quantities; and when George inquired after Mrs. Y. Leaf, he received the answer, spoken with some asperity:
"Her be tedious this morning. Ses her be going quick, and I be to hurry after; but I tells she I b'ain't agoing to hurry."
"Would you like to buy my giant tortoise? I'll sell him for five shillings," George continued.
"What would I do wi' a tor-toys?" asked the Yellow Leaf with great deliberation.
"It's a nice friendly animal," explained George.
"Would he make gude eating?" asked the Yellow Leaf.
"Might be a bit tough, but he'd make splendid soup," said George.
"I ha' no craving vor gigantic tor-toyses, thankye. And if I did crave vor 'en, how be I to know he'm yours to sell?"
"Of course it's mine. Everything belongs to me," said George sharply.
"Then you have been told lies."
"I ha' heard another tale."
"I hears plenty o' they. Don't ye ever think o' driving that old toat of a tor-toys into my garden, vor if you does I'll kick 'en." And with these words the Yellow Leaf withdrew into his cottage, munching severely at his bread and jam.
Bessie has been talking, thought George, as he went along the road, to pause beside a potato patch where Squinting Jack was whistling as he worked. He looked up and nodded, then went on digging, while George drew near and remarked:
"I'm selling off the animals."
"Sorry I b'ain't a butcher, sir," said Squinting Jack.
"I've got a very good half Persian cat for sale at two shillings," George continued.
"How much would ye charge vor the whole cat?" asked Squinting Jack.
"I mean it's part Persian."
"Which part?" asked the humourist.
George laughed somewhat feebly, while Squinting Jack continued, "I've got a whole English cat what you can have vor nothing."
By this time George had discovered he was not so well liked as formerly, and the reason was not far to seek: Kezia and Bessie were advertising their own triumph and trumpeting his misfortunes. George went a long walk, climbed a steep hill, and sat upon the summit, trying to work out a plan of campaign which might enable him to obtain the victory over all his enemies.
"Why not shift the responsibility?" he muttered at length. "That's the plan right enough—shift it on to Percy. He wants to run the whole show—why not let him?"
George meditated yet more deeply, rubbing his head which was nothing like so dense as his relations had supposed. "Percy means to do me, so it's my duty to do him. When you want to catch anything you set a trap. And now I've got it!" George shouted exultantly. "I'll tempt Percy with the furniture—I'll get him to buy it! Then I shall have the cash, while he can settle with Kezia and Bessie, and all the rest of the beastly, selfish, money grabbing crowd."
Mr. Hunter of Messrs. Martin and Cross sent George a very civil letter, acknowledging the will and announcing that the papers necessary for obtaining probate would be prepared in due course. As a valuation of the furniture would be required, he proposed to send down the man usually employed by his firm for that purpose, his knowledge being extensive and his fee moderate.
One other point Mr. Hunter wished to refer to. He had gathered, from an interview with Mr. Percy Taverner, that Miss Yard's mental condition left something to be desired: although in several respects a person competent to do business, she might be described as susceptible to the influence of a superior intelligence, and could therefore be prevailed upon to act in a manner contrary to her interests: she would—to put the matter plainly—sign a cheque if ordered by some other person to do so.
Mr. Hunter understood further that Miss Yard positively declined to leave Highfield House, which was now Mr. Drake's property by virtue of the phrase "all that I die possessed of" contained in the codicil to the will of Mrs. Drake deceased; and at her age it might perhaps be inadvisable to press her. The position was somewhat a delicate one, as he understood Mr. Drake's financial position was not possibly quite so strong as could be wished; and he might be desirous of selling the property. Or, on the other hand, he might be inclined to allow Miss Yard the use of the premises upon the undertaking that she provided him with board and lodging, and paid a peppercorn rent.
Both Mr. Percy Taverner and himself, in their joint capacity as trustees of the Yard estate, agreed that in such case it would be absolutely necessary to appoint some trustworthy person as the manager of Miss Yard's affairs, such person to be given the charge of the lady's cheque-book, and to give an account of all moneys spent. Mr. Taverner had recommended for this purpose Miss Nellie Blisland, whom he believed to be a thoroughly trustworthy young person and one, moreover, not only firmly attached to Miss Yard, but highly favoured by the lady herself.
"More of Percy's dirty little ways," was George's comment. "He thinks I shall wheedle money out of Aunt Sophy like he does himself. I'm quite satisfied that Nellie should be appointed; but I should like to be told for certain that he didn't squeeze her hand when he said good-bye. I saw him looking sideways at her anyhow. Now for the trap—and I don't care which of 'em tumbles into it."
He wrote to Mr. Hunter, quite agreeing with all that gentleman had said. It was unfortunately true that his financial condition was somewhat embarrassed at the moment, while his physical state did not encourage him to hope for any considerable increase of income likely to accrue from his professional duties of civil engineer. The position, as Mr. Hunter had admitted, was somewhat delicate, since Miss Yard would be living in his house, enjoying the use of his furniture; and would probably continue to do so until her death, by which time a great quantity of domestic utensils would have been destroyed, much valuable crockery broken, while the whole of the furniture would have suffered deterioration owing to wear and tear; furthermore he would have no control over the servants, who might conceivably indulge in a certain amount of pilfering—indeed a few articles had already unaccountably disappeared.
He could not, of course, allow Miss Yard, whom he regarded with feelings of utmost affection, to be disturbed, or even to be troubled by any suggestion that her tenancy of Windward House should be brought to a close; but it was perhaps a pity Mr. Hunter had not suggested that Miss Yard should purchase the furniture—with the exception of a few articles he would wish to retain because of their sentimental value—for the sum which might be quoted by the professional valuer. George did not press the point in the least, but he would remind Mr. Hunter, under such an arrangement, Mr. Percy Taverner might very likely benefit.
The appointment of Miss Nellie Blisland as custodian of Miss Yard's bank account met with his entire approval. He had watched this young lady carefully, and could assure Mr. Hunter that Miss Yard's interests would be perfectly safe in her hands.
As Mr. Hunter prowled and sniffed through these elegant sentences, he discovered nothing of a suspicious nature. On the contrary, Mr. George Drake appeared to him a very obvious gentleman indeed. He wrote to Percy, requesting another interview, and when the tomato merchant arrived Mr. Hunter spread George's letter before him and asked him what he thought about it.
"Nothing until I've heard your opinion," replied the cautious Percy.
"You have the advantage of knowing Mr. Drake."
"It's no advantage," declared Percy.
"What sort of a man is he?" asked Mr. Hunter.
"As this is a privileged communication, he's the most useless, good-for-nothing chap in the country," replied Percy; and he went on to narrate the tragical history of his cousin's deception and indolence.
"Then he is, in your opinion, unscrupulous?"
"That's right. If he wants Miss Yard to buy the furniture, it's because he hopes to benefit by it."
"Naturally," said the lawyer. "There's nothing unscrupulous in that. Under the will of Mrs. Drake he becomes possessed of a certain amount of property; and, being a poor man, he is anxious to convert this property, or a portion of it, into cash. There is apparently no opening for fraud but, should one exist, you may be quite sure I shall discover it in the course of negotiations."
"What do you advise?" asked Percy.
"First of all I should like to know whether he has written to you?"
"I had a note from him, offering me a pair of silver candlesticks. It appears he found a scrap of paper left by my aunt, expressing a wish that I should have them, as they were given her as a wedding present by my mother. I don't want them just now, as I live in lodgings, so I wrote back and said they had better stay in the house until Miss Yard dies."
"It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have destroyed that piece of paper. Yet Mr. Drake has communicated its contents to you," said Mr. Hunter, putting on his eyeglasses and again searching the letter for any possible stratagem or pitfall.
"I don't say George is altogether bad. I suppose he can respect his aunt's memory to a certain extent," replied Percy.
"His standpoint appears to me not unreasonable," the lawyer continued. "The furniture belongs to him, and his argument, firstly that he will be unable to realise upon it during Miss Yard's lifetime, and secondly that it may deteriorate to some extent in value before her death takes place, is quite a sound one. It is possible that Miss Yard may live to well over ninety, and his financial position may become intolerable before then. I understand the furniture is valuable?"
"Most of it is rubbish; but there are two Chinese vases which, I believe, are enormously valuable. Captain Drake probably looted them during one of his eastern expeditions. I have described them to Crampy, the well known expert, and he says they may be worth almost anything."
"Mr. Drake is careful to mention there are a few articles he would wish to retain because of their sentimental value. For sentimental read pecuniary," said Mr. Hunter, in the shocked voice usually adopted by a lawyer when he discovers another person trifling with the truth. "But the goods are his, he is aware of their value, and naturally he wishes to retain them. These vases throw a new light upon the position. The best thing he can do is to sell them at once: then, if they are as valuable as you suppose, he can retire from Windward House, and live upon the interest of his capital."
"Leaving Miss Yard in possession of the house?"
"Exactly—if he will agree to that course."
"Then you are going to advise Miss Yard to buy the furniture?"
"I think not, and I will give you my reasons. In the first place we ought not to perplex Miss Yard with matters of business she cannot understand. In the second place it might not be safe for her to become the owner of the furniture. Miss Yard, I understand, does exactly as she is told; she is completely under the control of servants; if an entire stranger entered the house and introduced himself as a relation, she might give him anything he liked to ask for. It would be easy for Mr. Drake, if he is unscrupulous as you suggest, to visit Miss Yard and induce her to sign a will leaving him the furniture she had previously purchased from himself."
"On the other hand," said Percy, "we shall never get George out of Windward House while the furniture belongs to him. He is too much afraid of the servants stealing things."
"I had thought of that difficulty," said Mr. Hunter in his most omniscient manner. "What I am going to recommend is that you should make Mr. Drake an offer for the goods."
"George wouldn't sell to me," said Percy.
"It cannot matter to him whether you or Miss Yard purchase the furniture. If you do so, it will be upon the understanding that Mr. Drake leaves Miss Yard in undisturbed possession of the premises at a rental to be agreed upon. By this arrangement she will be left in a position of absolute security. While, if you decide not to purchase, Mr. Drake may sell the contents of one room after another according to his need for money."
"I'll think over it, and let you know," said Percy.
"During the course of the next few days we shall be receiving the figures from the valuer," Mr. Hunter continued. "I shall then be in a position to advise you as to the sum you should offer Mr. Drake. You agree with me, I think, that I have suggested a way out of the difficulty?"
"I am always ready to take your advice," replied Percy. "But I believe George hates me and, if I made him an offer for the furniture, he would smell something fishy."
"He will receive a complete assurance from my firm that his interests are being adequately protected," said the lawyer, with a dignity that seemed to make the windows rattle.
A few days afterwards the expert sent in his report, and Mr. Hunter was considerably astonished to read that the contents of Windward House, excluding the articles belonging to Miss Yard, were valued for probate at the sum of £220 5s. 3d. He sent for the valuer, requesting another interview with Percy at the same time; and, when they came together, an explanation of these figures was demanded; the lawyer mentioning that, according to his instructions, the late Captain Drake had died possessed of a great number of valuable antiques.
"Most of them worthless. At all events, it's no easy matter to value such things as an Egyptian mummy and a stuffed mermaid for purposes of probate."
"How about the Russian Ikon and the Indian musical box?" asked Percy.
"There is no market price for articles of that description. They might fetch a few shillings, or a great number of pounds. It would depend upon history and association, or upon rivalry between collectors. I value the Ikon at ten shillings, and the musical box at five pounds. It's all guesswork, but I doubt whether you would get much more. As for the mummy, I simply throw it in with the oleographs."
"Why the odd threepence?" asked Percy.
The valuer coughed and said nothing.
"Mr. Taverner and I are particularly interested in a pair of Chinese vases," began Mr. Hunter cautiously.
"Which were kept in a box under Mrs. Drake's bed," added the more reckless Percy.
"Those things!" exclaimed the valuer disgustedly. "I remember them well, for I thought Mr. Drake was getting at me when he pulled out the box and unwrapped those vases. There's your odd threepence, sir!" he continued, turning towards Percy. "And dear at the price."
"You have made a mistake, my friend. I'm not an expert, but I would give five hundred pounds for those vases without having another look at them," said Percy.
"Then I wish they were mine!" cried the valuer.
"Perhaps you would describe these vases for Mr. Taverner's benefit," the lawyer suggested.
"They're not worth describing, sir. They are the sort of things exchanged by hawkers for a rabbit skin. A pair of green vases about eighteen inches high, with red cabbages meant for roses splashed across them."
"We need not trouble you any further, I think," said Percy.
"It was the most difficult job I've had in my life. I value plate and furniture, not the contents of museums," the man protested.
"You have done your work excellently, as usual; and you have also given us the information we require," said Mr. Hunter, as the valuer took his hat and his leave.
"Of course you see what has happened," began Percy at once.
"Mr. Drake had concealed the vases. I shall write pretty sharply to remind him he must not play these tricks with the law," said Mr. Hunter.
"He's a bigger fool than I took him for, if he thought he could deceive the valuer—not to mention you and me," said Percy.
"Mr. Drake is no fool: on the contrary, he seems a clever fellow. He did not suppose he could deceive the valuer, nor did he make the attempt. He simply produced the pair of worthless vases without comment."
"Then what is he playing at?"
"In the first place he tries to evade the death duties as far as possible; and these fall upon him rather heavily, as he was related to the deceased only by marriage. Mr. Drake would naturally prefer to receive one thousand pounds for the vases rather than nine hundred. In the second place, he is anxious to discover how much we know about these vases. It is true they belong to him, but he is by no means certain of their value. If we make a fuss about the vases he will guess they are genuine; whereas, if we make no inquiry, he will evade the duty and at the same time be satisfied that you are not scheming to get hold of them."
"I never thought of such a thing!" exclaimed Percy.
"The best thing we can do is to send down an expert in china. I shall first write to Mr. Drake, informing him that he must produce the vases."
"Send Crampy! You needn't write; I'll go and see him," cried Percy eagerly.
"We could not get a better man than Mr. Crampy; but I'm afraid his fee will be rather high."
"He'll do it for a guinea if I ask him. Crampy is a great friend of mine. He told me to keep an eye upon the vases."
Mr. Hunter being perfectly agreeable, Percy snatched his hat and made off, muttering as he reached the street, "For poor old George's sake I must tell him not to value them too high."
George in the meantime had nothing much to worry about, although somewhat disgusted at the low figure placed upon the furniture. He and Mr. Hunter wrote to each other every day like a couple of lovers; George always hoping that the lawyer enjoyed a continuance of perfect health; while Mr. Hunter trusted himself to anticipate a complete cure from the backache which had blighted Mr. Drake's existence for so long. Kezia and Bessie were moderately happy while taking stock of the goods which appeared to belong to them under the joint tenancy created by the scraps of paper; but there was obviously a certain amount of coldness arising between them at the prospect of a day of settlement. George was not much accounted of by either, although the interference of the valuer was bitterly resented, and George had much difficulty in making them understand that, whenever a person of quality departed this life, the Government required a perfect stranger from one of the State Departments to set a price upon the furniture, in order that statistics as to the national wealth might be obtained.
Although they were both prepared to fight for the possession of the Egyptian mummy, which Robert was especially anxious to see set up against the wall of his parlour, and Kezia had long regarded as the joy and inspiration of her spiritual existence, neither of them showed the slightest interest in the Chinese vases which they regarded as vulgar. Vases to Kezia and Bessie were—vases; that is to say, conspicuous objects set upon either end of mantelpiece or dresser, to be replaced by others when broken. Any little village shop, or travelling Cheap-Jack, sold artistic vases, such as those Mr. George had lately purchased to delight his eyes, of a beautiful bright green painted with lovely roses. As Kezia and Bessie were quite prepared to make George a free gift of all the rubbish in the house, they assured him, in the kindest possible fashion, that the vases with hideous dragons on them were his, together with the tortoise and cats, and any other little thing he might like to have as a remembrance of his aunt. George did not thank them much, but then he had never been demonstrative.
Letters from the lawyer and expert reached George by the same post; the one informing him the vases must be produced; the other announcing the day upon which the valuation would be made. When Mr. Crampy arrived he was received at the door by Bessie, who spent most of the day regarding her own home from the windows of Windward House and, as no visitor was expected by any one except George, who as usual had kept his own counsel, she said, "Not today, thankye," and would have shut him out; but, perceiving that the gentleman appeared somewhat agitated, she added with less severity, "Have ye come vor anything?"
Mr. Crampy had a nervous manner and spoke somewhat indistinctly; but Bessie was able to gather he had come all the way from London to inspect their china.
"Please to step inside," she said.
Mr. Crampy did so, and Bessie led him like a lamb into the kitchen, where she announced to Kezia, "Gentleman come to see the cloam."
"That's one lot on the dresser," gasped Kezia, wondering how many more inquisitors would arrive. "The best dinner service is in the pantry," she added.
Mr. Crampy grew more nervous, but managed to explain he had come to see a certain Mr. Drake.
"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure," said Bessie, "but I fancied you said something about china."
"Yes, I have come to see a pair of vases," stammered Mr. Crampy.
"Best tell Mr. George a gentleman wants to see 'en," said Kezia, when the situation threatened to become painful.
A minute later Mr. Crampy was left to cool in the dining room. Presently George descended the stairs, carrying a large white candle beneath each arm. He apologised for the stupidity of the servants, then locked the door, and placed the precious bundles on the table, with the announcement, "I didn't show these things to the other man for, to tell you the truth, I was afraid he might place a ridiculously false value upon them. I expect you know what's what in this particular line?"
"I am supposed to have a very fair knowledge of Chinese porcelain. A great deal of it passes through my hands," said Mr. Crampy, who was now perfectly composed.
George removed a quantity of twine, unwound some yards of linen, removed clouds of brown paper, then abstracted from a bushel of fibre the vase heavily swathed in cotton-wool; and this he handed to Mr. Crampy with the utmost reverence.
The expert paused a moment to adjust his glasses; then he drew aside the wool and gazed at the vase with the love and tenderness of a father regarding his firstborn child. His lips moved to mutter repeatedly the single word, "Undoubtedly!"
"A dream, isn't it?" remarked George.
"Glazed porcelain, moulded in relief with dragons—belonging probably to an early period of the Tsing dynasty, about the end of the seventeenth century."
"And they've been knocked about like a couple of twopenny teacups," added George.
"Do you know, Mr. Drake, how they came into your late uncle's possession?" asked the expert, caressing the glazed surface with tender fingers.
"My uncle had a yarn for everything. He would have said they were a present from the Emperor of China. The only thing I'm concerned about is the price you mean to put upon them."
"Porcelain of this class has its own value," replied Mr. Crampy. "Were these vases to be offered for sale, they might fetch a thousand pounds or, on the other hand, they might be knocked down at five hundred. I am here to value them for purposes of probate, and that means the lowest possible value I can put upon them. Is the other vase in a perfect condition?"
"Just the same. Not a mark upon it. Shall I unwrap it?"
"Oh no! It is quite sufficient to have seen the one. I think I may value them, for legal requirements, at five hundred pounds; but, Mr. Drake, if you are willing to accept a thousand pounds, I will hand you a cheque for that amount before I leave this room."
"There's a big difference between the figures," said George.
"I don't say you would get more than a thousand pounds for these vases. But I am in the trade, I know how to get to work and secure a profit on the transaction."
"It sounds a very liberal offer, but I won't decide offhand."
"There is no hurry whatever," said the expert hastily.
"If nothing better comes along I'll write and let you know," said George, tingling with happiness and excitement.
Nor did his triumph end here. A few mornings later came a letter from Mr. Hunter, and George read as follows:
"With reference to so much of the furniture and other articles—excluding the pair of Chinese vases, to which you probably attach a sentimental value—as belonged to your late aunt, I have had an interview with Mr. Percy Taverner, and I am now authorised on his behalf to make you an offer of £200 for these effects. Although this sum is less than the amount of the probate valuation, you might feel disposed to accept the offer, having regard to the fact that it would save you the expense of removing the furniture and holding a sale by auction and the auctioneer's commission on a sale. I shall be glad to hear from you when you have considered Mr. Taverner's proposal."
"I've caught 'em!" cried George exultantly. "I baited and set my little trap and I've caught, not only slippery Percy, but that two-faced, double-tongued, pill-gilding, thimble-rigging, gammoning, diddling Hunter!"