"Very well," said Mr. Bingle, arising hastily. "Let it be bosh and ridiculous, just as you like. I would have been willing to take this small amount, just as I have said, and, what's more, I might have been willing to divide the estate into four equal parts--if Mr. Sigsbee would let me do it--but now I'll be damned if I'll do anything for either of you. You don't deserve a nickel, not one of you. You had your chance and you didn't take it. I fed and clothed and housed your father and I stood ready to spend my last dollar to make his last few days on earth comfortable and easy. I buried him. I went to his funeral. I took the chance of losing my job by doing so. I froze my ears--oh, look at 'em! I don't care. And now you--you three! You can go to the devil, with my compliments as well as Uncle Joe's. Come along, Mary! Let's get out of this. We've got fifteen million dollars coming to us, and we don't have to sit here and be insulted by people to whom we have offered charity. Good day, Mr. Sigsbee. If you want me for anything, you'll find me at the bank. Now, be sure you wrap your throat up carefully, Mary. Don't take any chances. You look as though you were overheated." Mr. Sigsbee followed them into the corridor, where he shook hands with the indignant heir. "Your troubles have just begun, Mr. Bingle," he said, with a genial smile. "How's that?" "We'll have a long, bitter fight on our hands, but--we'll win. There will be a contest, you see." "All right," said Mr. Bingle, his eyes snapping. "I'm ready. I stood by Uncle Joe when he was alive, you can bet your last dollar I'm not going back on him now that he's dead." That evening, sitting over the crackling grate fire, Mr. Bingle broke a long period of silence by remarking to his wife: "I dare say we can afford to adopt one or two, Mary, with all this money we're going to have." CHAPTER VI THE HONOURABLE THOMAS SINGLETON BINGLE Time flies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .