"No," she said faintly.
Hearing the hubbub, David and his father came out, and were told what was going on. David laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You mak' the maist solemn occasions a target for ye'r mockery, Daavid. Hold ye'r whisht!"
"I can't, father. It's as good as a play. It's a comedy of the first water. Ha, ha!"
"To hear a son o' mine talk o' play-actin'! If I thocht ye had ever been in a playhouse, or theatre, as ye ca' it, I'd strike ye off wi' a shillin'.'
"Listen to me, father, and all you people," said David, pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "I found this behind the sofa where Lanky lay last night. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he wriggled about. I did not know what it was till I read it, and, as the reading will do much good, I don't think I ought to consider it a private or privileged document. It's a letter from Lanky's mother to him. Here goes:—
"'13, Furze Street, Collingwood.
"'My Dear Son Tim,—
"'This is to say as how my rheumatics is very bad an I done not a days washin for a month every stick of furniture is sold I have not a shillin Send me som money for the love of God at wanct.
"'Your pore old mother
"'Bridget Wilber.'"
Tim looked as if he would gladly have sunk into the earth. He was taken aback, and said nothing.
"I think, father," said David, "I have run a coach and six horses through the will; I think I have scotched this snake, this colossus of wealth! Saul slew his thousands, but David has slain his ten thousands."