"Who the devil would you have me leave my money to?" cried Mr. Treverton, overhearing him. "To my brother, who thinks me a brute now; who would think me a fool then; and who would encourage swindling, anyhow, by spending all my money among doxies and strolling players? To the child of that player-woman, whom I have never set eyes on, who has been brought up to hate me, and who would turn hypocrite directly by pretending, for decency's sake, to be sorry for my death? To _you_, you human baboon!--you, who would set up a usury office directly, and prey upon the widow, the fatherless, and the unfortunate generally, all over the world? Your good health, Mr. Shrowl! I can laugh as well as you--especially when I know I'm not going to leave you sixpence." Shrowl, in his turn, began to get a little irritated now. The jeering civility which he had chosen to assume on first entering the room gave place to his habitual surliness of manner and his natural growling intonation of voice. "You just let me alone--will you?" he said, sitting down sulkily to his breakfast. "I've done joking for to-day; suppose you finish too. What's the use of talking nonsense about your money? You must leave it to somebody." "Yes, I will," said Mr. Treverton. "I will leave it, as I have told you over and over again, to the first Somebody I can find who honestly despises money, and who can't be made the worse, therefore, by having it." "That means nobody," grunted Shrowl. "I know it does!" retorted his master. Before Shrowl could utter a word of rejoinder, there was a ring at the gate-bell of the cottage. "Go out," said Mr. Treverton, "and see what that is. If it's a woman visitor, show her what a scarecrow you are, and frighten her away. If it's a man visitor--" "If it's a man visitor," interposed Shrowl, "I'll punch his head for interrupting me at my breakfast." Mr. Treverton filled and lit his pipe during his servant's absence. Before the tobacco was well alight, Shrowl returned, and reported a man visitor. "Did you punch his head?" asked Mr. Treverton. "No," said Shrowl. "I picked up his letter. He poked it under the gate and went away. Here it is." The letter was written on foolscap paper, superscribed in a round legal hand. As Mr. Treverton opened it, two slips cut from newspapers dropped out. One fell on the table before which he was sitting; the other fluttered to the floor. This last slip Shrowl picked up and looked over its contents, without troubling himself to go through the ceremony of first asking leave.