Valentine took his place in his father's room; and the clerks, who had been hail-fellow-well-met with him hitherto, put on respect of manner, and called him Mr. Chandler. Tom had an errand to do every Monday morning connected with the business, and did not enter until nearly eleven o'clock. Before settling to his desk, he went in to Valentine. They shook hands. In times of bereavement we are apt to observe more ceremony than at others. Tom sat down: which caused the new master to look towards him inquiringly. "Valentine, I want to have a bit of talk with you. Upon what footing am I to be on here?" "How do you mean?" asked Valentine: who was leaning back in the green leather chair with the air of his new importance full upon him, his elbows on the low arms, and an ivory paper-knife held between his fingers. "My uncle Jacob told me that from henceforth I was to assume my right place here, Valentine. I suppose it will be so." "What do you call your right place?" cried Valentine. "Well, my right place would be head of the office," replied Tom, speaking, as he always did, cordially and pleasantly. "But I don't wish to be exacting. Make me your partner, Valentine, and give me the second place in the firm." "Can't do it, old fellow," said Valentine, in tones which seemed to say he would like to joke the matter off. "The practice was my father's, and it is now mine." "But you know that part of it ought to have been mine from the first, Valentine. That is, from the time I have been of an age to succeed to it." "I don't know it, I'm sure, Tom. If it 'ought' to have been yours, I suppose my father would have given it to you. He was able to judge." Tom dropped his voice. "He sent for me that last day of his life, you know, Valentine. It was to tell me he had not done the right thing by me, but that it should be done now: that he had charged _you_ to do it." "Ah," said Valentine, carelessly, "worn-out old men take up odd fancies--fit for a lunatic asylum. My poor father must have been spent with disease, though not with age: but we did not know it." "Will you make me your partner?" "No, Tom, I can't. The practice was all my father's, and the practice must be mine. Look here: on that same day you speak of he sent for John Paul to add a codicil to his will. Now it stands to reason that if he had wished me to take you into the firm, he would have mentioned it in that codicil and bound me down to do it." "And he did not?" "Not a word of it. You are quite welcome to read the will. It is a very short and simple one: leaving what property he had to my mother, and the business and office furniture to me. The codicil Paul wrote was to decree that I should pay my mother a certain sum out of the profits. Your name is not mentioned in the will at all, from beginning to end." Tom made no reply. Valentine continued.