“By God, sir!—­” and here he raised his clenched fist, no doubt to bang upon the table; but being seated at the corner, very close to the wall (the party being a large one for the room), he drove his elbow clean through a wooden panel beside the fireplace.  He swung back, full of consternation and remorse.

“And now see what you have done, with your profanity and all!” cries Mistress Vetch, her cap sidling upon her head as she shook it with vexation.  “You was always a violent man; ’tis no thanks to you that poor Humphrey hasn’t been killed over and over again, for ’twas you and no one else as taught him to fight.  And who’ll pay the bill for your breakages?  That’s what I say!”

Mr. Vetch did his best to soothe his angry spouse; I fear he suffered a good deal at times from her unmannerliness, though to be sure she was an excellent housewife and had a heart of gold.  And Captain Galsworthy, saying never a word in reply to her outbreak, rubbed his elbow and said with a rueful smile: 

“’Tis assault and battery, Vetch; I’m sorry:  but I wonder why they call it the funny bone!”

Mistress Vetch would, I am sure, have given her views on this question had not Mr. Pinhorn, the surgeon, who was at the other side of the corner from the captain, suddenly called out: 

“I say, Vetch, I fear you’ll have to choose another receptacle for your secret documents.”

“He has no secrets from me, I would have you know!” cries Mistress Vetch in high indignation, not knowing in the least what had occasioned his remark.

“I don’t doubt it, madam,” said Mr. Pinhorn, with a comical twist of the mouth; “but maybe he stowed that paper there before you and he was made one.”

He pointed to the hole made by Captain Galsworthy’s elbow, and there, sure enough, was the white end of a folded paper showing.

“Dear me,” says Mr. Vetch, getting up from his seat.  “I knew nothing of it.”

He goes to the broken panel, brings out the paper, and as he looked at it turned so ghastly pale that Mr. Pinhorn clutched a decanter of brandy and began to pour some of it into a glass.  We were all struck silent with wonderment; even Mistress Vetch being tongue tied.  Then Mr. Vetch turned to me and, holding out the paper with trembling hand, tears standing in his eyes, said: 

“God be thanked for all His mercies!”

’Twas my father’s will, dusty, gnawed at the edges, but indubitably the will which had disappeared seven years before.  Remembering the hiding place in which Cyrus had secreted the money at Penolver, it was no mystery to me that he should have fashioned a similar receptacle for the will he had purloined.

There is no need to tell of the congratulations showered upon me; My hand was wrung by my kind neighbors until it tingled with numbness.  Mistress Vetch fell into hysterics—­mercilessly ignored by Mr. Pinhorn.  And as for Captain Galsworthy, he seemed incapable of doing anything but repeat his question, chuckling aloud “Can anyone tell me why ’tis called the funny bone?”