"Circ.u.mstances, my dear aunt, will compel me to leave you during the course of the next few days: but I cannot go until I have the satisfaction of knowing you have made a will in our dear Nellie's favour."

"Good heavens--in my presence, too!" gasped the young lady.

"I need not remind you of the goodness, the modesty, the unselfishness of our Nellie," he continued. "She would serve you for nothing, but nevertheless it is your duty to leave her all you can."

"I can't stay and listen to this," cried the distressed beneficiary.

"Don't interfere. She has always meant to do it, but never will unless we jog her memory," George whispered.

"I'll have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Nellie; and out she went with a fine colour.

"Is this something to do with that nasty robbery they call income tax?"

asked Miss Yard.

"This is your last will and testament," replied George solemnly. "I know you mean to leave everything to Nellie, but you can't do that unless you sign a will. You must die soon, you know; and, if it was to happen suddenly, Nellie would get nothing."

"I did write out a paper, but somebody has hidden it away somewhere,"

said the old lady.

"Pieces of paper are very little good," said George. "This is a properly drawn up will. When you have signed it I can go away quite happy, and I shall know dear Nellie will be provided for."

"Will she have the house, and the furniture, and all my money?" asked Miss Yard eagerly.

"Percy gets your money, but Nellie will have all that you may leave in the bank, any investments you may make, and the proportion of income up to the time of your death," said George learnedly.

"Must I write my name somewhere?"

"Yes, and two witnesses are required; but Nellie can't be one," said George, going to the window and gazing along the street for some honest person who could also write.

Presently the Wallower in Wealth appeared, prospecting the gutter for any signs of gold dust.

"I know he can write, for he signed a pet.i.tion to uncle in favour of more frequent offertories in aid of the poor and needy," George muttered. Then he caught up the will, lest Miss Yard should scribble her name all over it during his absence, ran out into the street, and invited the scribe to step inside and witness Miss Yard's signature.

"I'll do it on one condition," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"What's that?" said George.

"You sell me the musical box. I'll give ye ten shillings vor it."

"That musical box is worth fifty pounds," said George. "But I can't sell it."

"Ain't it yours?"

"It has been out of order since my uncle died."

"You get it put right, and let me have it vor fifteen shillings, and I'll sign."

"Miss Yard wants you to witness her signature. You won't be doing anything for me."

"You'm asking me."

"Miss Yard isn't feeling very well today, and she's in a hurry to get her affairs settled."

"I b'ain't preventing her," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"She can't do it without witnesses."

"I might spare a pound vor the musical box."

"You couldn't get it repaired. That musical box is a lost art."

"If I take it wi' all its faults, and Miss Yard gives me five shillings vor my time and labour, will ye sell me the box vor one pound two and sixpence?"

"I can't stay here talking. If you won't come I must get somebody else,"

said George impatiently.

"Other folk would want to be paid the same as me," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"Then I shall go and ask the vicar."

This was a fatal blow, and the bargainer climbed down at once.

"I'll stand witness vor half a crown and first refusal of the musical box," he promised.

Miss Yard was unusually silent after signing her will, and paying a fee to both her witnesses. She lay back in her chair with dreamy old eyes which looked as if they were recalling many scenes. While George carried the precious doc.u.ment upstairs to Nellie.

"Put it away and keep it safe until she dies," he said.

"I want to say the right thing," she murmured. "You ought not to have made her sign, although she often says it is her intention to leave me something."

"You won't forget that I might have acted in a most scandalous fashion,"

George hinted.

"Yes, I know!" she said hurriedly. "You could have put your name in place of mine, and she would have signed just as willingly. But it's a horrible business."

"All business is horrible. That is why we hire people to do it for us. I was thinking of myself as well," said George heartily. "We are getting along very nicely, Nellie--no just cause or impediment, you know! This should mean one of those nice little sums of good money known as capital," he whispered, rubbing his hands.

"I must go to Miss Sophy," said Nellie; and she moved towards the stairs like one in trouble.

The next day George carried his vases tenderly to the station where, at the appointed time, Crampy arrived, and at once inquired:

"Has Jenkins been down?"

"He came," replied George, prepared for some such question, "but we couldn't do business."

"All cackle, I suppose? That's his way. He'll come into my place to bargain for a piece of Sevres; swear he must have it, talk me dizzy; then say he must cross the Atlantic and think about it."

"He seemed very anxious to buy the vases, but he couldn't quite make up his mind. I didn't exactly trust the fellow," said George. Then he went on to describe the millionaire's adventures with aeroplane and motor car between London and Highfield.