"But I don't carry twenty pound about with me!" protested Cater, waving his fists. "Give me the will and come to my office for the money to-morrow!"
"No tick for this sort of job," answered Greer decisively. "Sorry I can't oblige you—I'm goin' down to the front door." And he made as though to go.
"Well, look here!" said Cater desperately, pulling out his pocket-book. "I've got a note or two, I think——"
"'Ow much?" asked Greer, calmly laying hold of the pocket-book. "Two at least. Two fivers. Well, I'll let it go at that. Give us hold." He took the notes, and pulled out the will from his pocket. Flint, outside, battered the door once more.
"Why," exclaimed Cater as he glanced over the sheet, "I'm sole executor and I get the lot! Who are these witnesses?"
"Oh, they're all right. Longshore hands just hereabout. You'll get 'em any day at the 'Ship and Anchor.'"
Cater put the will in his breast-pocket. "You'd best get out o' this, my man," he said. "You've had me for ten pound, and the further you get from me the safer you'll be."
"What?" said Greer with a chuckle. "Not even grateful! Shockin'!" He took his way downstairs, and Cater followed. At the door Flint, a counterpart of Cater, except that his dress was more slovenly, stood ragefully.
"Ah, cousin," said Cater, standing on the threshold and preventing his entrance, "this is a very sad loss!"
"Sad loss!" Flint replied with disgust. "A lot you think of the loss—as much as I do, I reckon. I want to come in."