you to,” says I, smiling away like a haberdasher.  “I’m hard of hearing,” he roars.  “I’d be in a pretty hot corner if you weren’t,” says I, making signs as if I was explaining everything.  It was tip-top as long as it lasted.  “Well,” he said, “I’m deaf, worse luck, but I bet the constable can hear you.”  And off he started one way, and I the other.  They got a spirit-lamp and the Pink Un, and that old religious paper, and another periodical you sent me.  I think you must have been drunk—­it had a name like one of those spots that Uncle Joseph used to hold forth at, and it was all full of the most awful swipes about poetry and the use of the globes.  It was the kind of thing that nobody could read out of a lunatic asylum.  The Athaeneum, that was the name!  Golly, what a paper!’

‘Athenaeum, you mean,’ said Morris.

‘I don’t care what you call it,’ said John, ’so as I don’t require to take it in!  There, I feel better.  Now I’m going to sit by the fire in the easy-chair; pass me the cheese, and the celery, and the bottle of port—­no, a champagne glass, it holds more.  And now you can pitch in; there’s some of the fish left and a chop, and some fizz.  Ah,’ sighed the refreshed pedestrian, ’Michael was right about that port; there’s old and vatted for you!  Michael’s a man I like; he’s clever and reads books, and the Athaeneum, and all that; but he’s not dreary to meet, he don’t talk Athaeneum like the other parties; why, the most of them would throw a blight over a skittle alley!  Talking of Michael, I ain’t bored myself to put the question, because of course I knew it from the first.  You’ve made a hash of it, eh?’

‘Michael made a hash of it,’ said Morris, flushing dark.

‘What have we got to do with that?’ enquired John.

‘He has lost the body, that’s what we have to do with it,’ cried Morris.  ‘He has lost the body, and the death can’t be established.’

‘Hold on,’ said John.  ‘I thought you didn’t want to?’

‘O, we’re far past that,’ said his brother.  ’It’s not the tontine now, it’s the leather business, Johnny; it’s the clothes upon our back.’

‘Stow the slow music,’ said John, ’and tell your story from beginning to end.’  Morris did as he was bid.

‘Well, now, what did I tell you?’ cried the Great Vance, when the other had done.  ’But I know one thing:  I’m not going to be humbugged out of my property.’

‘I should like to know what you mean to do,’ said Morris.

‘I’ll tell you that,’ responded John with extreme decision.  ’I’m going to put my interests in the hands of the smartest lawyer in London; and whether you go to quod or not is a matter of indifference to me.’

‘Why, Johnny, we’re in the same boat!’ expostulated Morris.

‘Are we?’ cried his brother.  ’I bet we’re not!  Have I committed forgery? have I lied about Uncle Joseph? have I put idiotic advertisements in the comic papers? have I smashed other people’s statues?  I like your cheek, Morris Finsbury.  No, I’ve let you run my affairs too long; now they shall go to Michael.  I like Michael, anyway; and it’s time I understood my situation.’