'But what did he say?' gasped Morris.

'I don't know as he SAID much, sir,' said Bill. 'But he offered to
fight this Pitman for a pot of beer. He had lost his book, too, and the
receipts, and his men were all as mortal as himself. O, they were all
like'--and Bill paused for a simile--'like lords! The superintendent
sacked them on the spot.'

'O, come, but that's not so bad,' said Morris, with a bursting sigh. 'He
couldn't tell where he took the packing-case, then?'

'Not he,' said Bill, 'nor yet nothink else.'

'And what--what did Pitman do?' asked Morris.

'O, he went off with the barrel in a four-wheeler, very trembling like,'
replied Bill. 'I don't believe he's a gentleman as has good health.'

'Well, so the barrel's gone,' said Morris, half to himself.

'You may depend on that, sir,' returned the porter. 'But you had better
see the superintendent.'

'Not in the least; it's of no account,' said Morris. 'It only contained
specimens.' And he walked hastily away.

Ensconced once more in a hansom, he proceeded to reconsider his
position. Suppose (he thought), suppose he should accept defeat and
declare his uncle's death at once? He should lose the tontine, and with
that the last hope of his seven thousand eight hundred pounds. But on