'And with this view has put you in as the possible heir to the money which is now accumulating in the hands of trustees. Mr. Matthew, now a partner in the business, will, it is assumed, provide for his heirs out of the business. On his death your father's fortune will come to you if you are living. If you die first it will go to your cousin. In the latter event there will be no question of your son getting aught.' 'So I understand.' 'Your cousin, therefore, argues in this way. First, he is only a year or two older than yourself: next, he is in full possession of his health and strength. There is nothing to prevent his living to eighty: I believe a great-grandmother of his, not yours, lived to ninety-six. It is very likely that he may reach as great an age. You will allow that.' 'Perhaps.' 'Why then, we are agreed. As for you, musicians, I am told, seldom get past forty: they gradually waste away and--and wither like the blasted sprig in July. Oh! you will certainly leave this world at forty--enviable person!--would that I could have done so!--you will exchange your fiddle for a harp--the superior instrument--and your three-cornered hat for a crown--the external sign of promotion--long before your cousin has been passed the Chair.' 'All this is very likely, Mr. Probus. Yet----' 'I am coming to my proposal. What Mr. Matthew says is this. "My cousin is cut out of the will. It is not for me to dispute my uncle's decision. Still, what he wants just now is ready money--a supplement--a supplement--to what he earns."' 'Well?' For he stopped here and looked about the room with an air of contempt. 'A pleasant room,' he said, going back, 'but is it the room which your father's son should have for a lodging? Rush-bottomed chairs: no carpet ... dear me, Mr. William, it is well to be a philosopher. However, we shall change all that.' I waited for him to go on without further interruption. 'In a word, Sir, I am the happy ambassador--privileged if ever there was one--charged to bring about reconciliation and cousinly friendship.' Again he overdid it. 'Your cousin sent me, in a word, to propose that you should sell him your chances of inheritance. That is why I am here. I say, Mr. William, that you may if you please sell him your chance of the inheritance. He proposes to offer you £3,000 down--£3,000, I say--the enormous sum of three--thousand--pounds--for your bare chance of succeeding. Well, Sir? What do you say to this amazing, this astounding piece of generosity?' I said nothing. Only suddenly there returned to my mind the words I had overheard in the outer counting-house. 'We will make him sell his reversion.' What connection had these words with me? There was no proof of any connection: no proof except that jumping of the wits which wants no proof.