RICHARD. Yours, sir. (With the glass half way to his lips, he
checks himself, giving a dubious glance at the wine, and adds,
with quaint intensity.) Will anyone oblige me with a glass of
water?

Essie, who has been hanging on his every word and movement, rises
stealthily and slips out behind Mrs. Dudgeon through the bedroom
door, returning presently with a jug and going out of the house
as quietly as possible.

HAWKINS. The will is not exactly in proper legal phraseology.

RICHARD. No: my father died without the consolations of the law.

HAWKINS. Good again, Mr. Dudgeon, good again. (Preparing to read)
Are you ready, sir?

RICHARD. Ready, aye ready. For what we are about to receive, may
the Lord make us truly thankful. Go ahead.

HAWKINS (reading). "This is the last will and testament of me
Timothy Dudgeon on my deathbed at Nevinstown on the road from
Springtown to Websterbridge on this twenty-fourth day of
September, one thousand seven hundred and seventy seven. I hereby
revoke all former wills made by me and declare that I am of sound
mind and know well what I am doing and that this is my real will
according to my own wish and affections."

RICHARD (glancing at his mother). Aha!