I employed this interval in taking stock of the testator’s estate, the whole of which was contained within her room. There were two bedsteads, one (a little folding thing) being devoted to the uses of the sniggering boy who, be it stated, figured in the document which was now being prepared as sole legatee. The other bedstead—that on which the patient lay—was obviously a veteran bedstead which had seen much of the world. It was a circumstantial, ponderous bedstead, and wore still a pompous air, although its ironwork was rusted and its lacquered parts had quite lost their complexion. This bedstead also bore a superstructure designed to carry a canopy; but all that hung there now were certain moth-eaten petticoats. There was a chest of drawers among the assets, and a cork model of the Tower of London, and a wash-basin and two soap dishes, and two dumb clocks and the mechanism of another, and a work of art designed in multi-coloured wools, and having reference to the parable of the fig tree. "Make it all over to ’im," said Mrs. West; "all what I, the undersigned, may die possessed of. I won’t ’ave ’is stuck-up sister touch a stick of it. ’E’s bin a good boy to me, Bert ’as. It’ll be a ’ome for ’im. "It’s bin a near touch for me, what, Doctor?" pursued the testator. "Pooh!" murmured the doctor, still writing rapidly, "you’re not going this time." "I know that," said the woman. "Not as I take any notice what _you_ say—you an’ your soft soap. But I know in _meself_ as it’s all right this time. On’y you never know what’s gointer ’appen with the next attack, do you, now? And it’ll be a ’ome for the boy. ’E’s gettin’ good money at the dye works now. ’E’ll be all right if ’e’s got a ’ome. You ain’t puttin’ it so’s _she_ can touch a share, I ’ope, Doctor?" "Who’s she?" "’Er what I spoke about—what calls ’erself my daughter. ’Er what’s married into the perlice. ’Er what’s ashamed of ’er own father!" "I am putting it," explained the doctor, "so that you leave all of which you may die possessed to your son Albert. It’s quite definite. You may sign now. This gentleman and myself will witness your signature." "Lift me up, then," said Mrs. West. She signed her name in a shaky but accomplished hand. "Be careful, young man," she admonished me, when my turn arrived. All the formalities being concluded, Mrs. West sank back upon her pillow with a grunt of contentment. "It’ll be a ’ome for the boy," she said. "And if ’is father _should_ turn up——" "Has he got a father, then?" questioned the doctor, rather, I think, with the object of displaying an intelligent interest than from any genuine curiosity. You _are_ apt to lose your genuine curiosity when this sort of confidence is thrust upon you ten times daily. "Got a father!" echoed Mrs. West, with evident amazement at the doctor’s ignorance. "Ain’t you ’eard, then?" "Heard what?" demanded Dr. Brink. "About my ’usband. The Midland Malt Comp’ny, you know!’