friend. He had intended to play it for at least fifty or sixty. He
wished that he had had the strength of mind to refuse the bequest when
the late Mr. Phipps first mentioned it, or taken a firmer line over the
congratulations of his friends. As it was, Little Molton quite
understood that after thirty years' waiting the faithful heart was to be
rewarded at last. Public opinion seemed to be that the late Mr. Phipps
had behaved with extraordinary generosity.

"It's rather late in life for me to begin," said Mr. Clarkson at last.

"Better late than never," said the cheerful Mr. Smithson.

"And something seems to tell me that I ain't long for this world,"
continued Mr. Clarkson, eyeing him with some disfavour.

"Stuff and nonsense," said Mr. Smithson. "You'll lose all them ideas as
soon as you're married. You'll have somebody to look after you and help
you spend your money."

Mr. Clarkson emitted a dismal groan, and clapping his hand over his mouth
strove to make it pass muster as a yawn. It was evident that the
malicious Mr. Smithson was deriving considerable pleasure from his
discomfiture--the pleasure natural to the father of seven over the
troubles of a comfortable bachelor. Mr. Clarkson, anxious to share his
troubles with somebody, came to a sudden and malicious determination to
share them with Mr. Smithson.

"I don't want anybody to help me spend my money," he said, slowly.
"First and last I've saved a tidy bit. I've got this house, those three
cottages in Turner's Lane, and pretty near six hundred pounds in the