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of malignity that almost frightened jerky little Mr. Todd.

"Now then," he said grimly, "there's an end of the old love; so let's on with the new. Take your pen and receive my instructions for my will."

Mr. Todd did as he was told.

"I leave all my property, real and personal, to be divided in equal shares between my two partners, Alfred Tom Addison and Cecil Spooner Roscoe. There, that's short and sweet, and, one way and another, it means a couple of millions."

"Why,

"Good Heavens! sir," jerked out Mr. Todd. do you mean to quite cut out your nephew—and the other legatees?" he added, by way of an afterthought.

"Of course I do; that is, as regards my nephew. The legatees may stand as before."

"Well, all I have to say," went on the little man, astonished into honesty, "is that this is the most shameful thing I ever heard of!"

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'Indeed, Mr. Todd, is it? Well, now may I ask you: am I leaving this property or are you? Don't trouble yourself to answer that, however, but just attend. Either you draw up that will at once, while I wait, or you say good-bye to about £2000 a year; for that's what Meeson's business is worth, I reckon. Now you take your choice."

Mr. Todd did take his choice. In under an hour

D

the will, which was very short, was drawn and engrossed.

"Now then," said Meeson, addressing himself to Mr. Todd and the managing clerk, as he took the quill between his fingers to sign, "do you two bear in mind that at the moment I execute this will I am of sound mind, memory, and understanding. There you are; now witness."

It was night, and King Capital, in the shape of Mr. Meeson, sat alone at dinner in his palatial diningroom at Pompadour. Dinner was over. The powdered footmen had departed with stately tread, and the head butler was just placing the decanters of richly coloured wine before this solitary lord of all. The dinner had been a melancholy failure. Dish after lish, the cost of any one of which would have fed a poor child for a month, had been brought up and handed to the master only to be found fault with and sent away. On that night Mr. Meeson had no appetite. "Johnston," he said to the butler, when he was sure the footmen could not hear him, "has Mr. Eustace been here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Has he gone?"

64

Yes, sir. He came to fetch his things, and then went away in a cab."

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66 Where to?"

"I don't know, sir. He told the man to drive to

Birmingham."

66

'Did he leave any message ?"

"Yes, sir; he bade me say that you should not be troubled with him again; but that he was sorry that you had parted from him in anger.'

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"Why did you not give me that message before?" "Because Mr. Eustace said I was not to give it unless you asked after him."

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'Yes, sir."

'You will give orders that Mr. Eustace's name is not to be mentioned in this house again. Any servant mentioning Mr. Eustace's name will be dismissed."

"Very good, sir;" and Johnston went.

Mr. Meeson gazed round him. He looked at the long array of glass and silver, at the spotless napery and costly flowers. He looked at the walls hung with works of art, which, whatever else they might be, were at least expensive; at the mirrors and the soft waxlights; at the marble mantelpieces and the bright warm fires (for it was November); at the rich wall paper, and the soft, deep-hued carpet; and reflected that they were all his. And then he sighed, and his coarse, heavy face sank in and grew sad. Of what use was this last extremity of luxury to him? He

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