"I was referring to your age," replied the other; "it's strange to see
'ow the aged 'ang on to life. You can't 'ave much pleasure at your time
o' life. And you're all alone; the last withered branch left."

"Withered branch!" began Mr. Wilks; "'ere, look 'ere, Teddy----"

"All the others 'ave gone," pursued Mr. Silk, and they're beckoning to
you."

"Let 'em beckon," said Mr. Wilks, coldly. "I'm not going yet."

"You're not young," said Mr. Silk, gazing meditatively at the grate, "and
I envy you that. It can only be a matter of a year or two at most before
you are sleeping your last long sleep."

"Teddy!" protested Mrs. Silk.

"It's true, mother," said the melancholy youth. "Mr. Wilks is old. Why
should 'e mind being told of it? If 'e had 'ad the trouble I've 'ad 'e'd
be glad to go. But he'll 'ave to go, whether 'e likes it or not. It
might be to-night. Who can tell?"

Mr. Wilks, unasked, poured himself out another glass of ale, and drank it
off with the air of a man who intended to make sure of that. It seemed a
trifle more flat than the last.

"So many men o' your age and thereabouts," continued Mr. Silk, "think
that they're going to live on to eighty or ninety, but there's very few
of 'em do. It's only a short while, Mr. Wilks, and the little