"As I was saying," resumed Mr. Clarkson, in the low tones of confidence,
"Digson was after her money. Of course her money don't make any
difference to me, although, perhaps, I may be able to do something for
friends like you. It's from an uncle in America on her mother's--"
Mr. Smithson made a strange moaning noise, and, snatching his hat from
the table, clapped it on his head and made for the door. Mr. Clarkson
flung his arms around him and dragged him back by main force.
"What are you carrying on like that for?" he demanded. "What do you mean
by it?"
"Fancy!" returned Mr. Smithson, with intense bitterness. "I thought
Digson was the biggest fool in the place, and I find I've made a
mistake. So have you. Good-night."
He opened the door and dashed out. Mr. Clarkson, with a strange sinking
at his heart, watched him up the road.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bequest, by W.W. Jacobs
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