CHAPTER I


IN WHICH BABNABAS KNOCKS DOWN HIS FATHER,
THOUGH AS DUTIFULLY AS MAY BE

John Barty, ex-champion of England and landlord of the "Coursing
Hound," sat screwed round in his chair with his eyes yet turned to
the door that had closed after the departing lawyer fully five
minutes ago, and his eyes were wide and blank, and his mouth (grim
and close-lipped as a rule) gaped, becoming aware of which, he
closed it with a snap, and passed a great knotted fist across his
brow.

"Barnabas," said he slowly, "I beant asleep an' dreaming be I,
Barnabas?"

"No, father!"

"But--seven--'undred--thousand--pound. It were seven--'undred
thousand pound, weren't it, Barnabas?"

"Yes, father!"

"Seven--'undred--thou--! No! I can't believe it, Barnabas my bye."

"Neither can I, father," said Barnabas, still staring down at the