"Well, if I do, I'm only a poor orphan whom no one will regret," returned Mr. Figgins, a tear trickling down his nose at the thought of his lonely condition; "I shall die breathing forth some mournful melody, and my flute will——"
"You can leave that to us as a legacy, and we'll put it under a glass case," said Harry.
"No; my flute shall be buried with me in the silent grave."
"We don't care what you do with it after you're dead," returned Jack, "but we object to being annoyed with it while you're alive."
"Oh, you shan't be exposed to any further annoyances on my account," said the orphan, rising grandly; "I and my flute will take our departure together."
With these words he left the room, and very shortly afterwards quitted the house.
Mr. Figgins being determined to keep apart from the Harkaway party, gave up the rooms he had taken, and after some search found another lodging in the upper chamber of a house in a retired part of the town.
Here he determined to settle down, and devote himself with more ardour than ever to the practice of his favourite instrument.