‘You’ll do nothing of the kind. Why, what do you mean, you great gaping fool?’ The agitation of his nerves made him break into unaccustomed violence. ‘Do you suppose you’re going to follow me everywhere for the next week? Are you afraid I shall run away? If I mean to do so, do you think you can stop me? You’ll just wait here till I come back, which will be before ten o’clock. Do you hear?’ She looked at him fiercely, but his energy was too much for her, and perforce she let him go. As soon as he had left the house, she too sat down and indited a letter. It ran thus: ‘DEAR MOTHER,—The old feller has gawn off, it apened at jest after six e’clock if you want to now I shall come and sea you at ten ‘clock to-morow moning, and I beleve hes got the will but hes a beest and theers a game up, you may take your hothe so I remain C. S.’ This document she took to the nearest pillar-post, then returned and sat brooding. By the first hansom available Joseph was driven right across London to a certain dull street in Chelsea. Before dismissing the vehicle he knocked at the door of a lodging-house and made inquiry for Mr. Scawthorne. To his surprise and satisfaction, Mr. Scawthorne happened to be at home; so the cabman was paid, and Joseph went up to the second floor. In his shabby little room Scawthorne sat smoking and reading. It was a season of impecuniosity with him, and his mood was anything but cheerful. He did not rise when his visitor entered. ‘Well now, what do you think brings me here?’ exclaimed Joseph, when he had carefully closed the door. ‘Hanged if I know, but it doesn’t seem to be particularly bad news.’ Indeed, Joseph had overcome his sensibilities by this time, and his aspect was one of joyous excitement. Seeing on the table a bottle of sherry, loosely corked, he pointed to it. ‘If you don’t mind, Scaw. I’m a bit upset, a bit flurried. Got another wine-glass?’ From the cupboard Scawthorne produced one, and bade the visitor help himself. His face began to express curiosity. Joseph tilted the draught down his throat and showed satisfaction. ‘That does me good. I’ve had a troublesome day. It ain’t often my feelings are tried.’ ‘Well, what is it?’ ‘My boy, we are all mortal. I dare say you’ve heard that observation before; can you apply it to any particular case?’ Scawthorne was startled; he delayed a moment before speaking. ‘You don’t mean to say—’ ‘Exactly. Died a couple of hours ago, after lying insensible all day, poor old man! I’ve just written your people a formal announcement. Now, what do you think of that? If you don’t mind, old fellow.’ He filled himself another glass, and tilted it off as before. Scawthorne had dropped his eyes to the ground, and stood in meditation. ‘Now what about the will?’ pursued Joseph. ‘You haven’t looked for it?’ questioned his friend with an odd look.