“You are all in such haste,” said Bobus. “It would take a good deal to make me accept such an informal scrap as this. No doubt one could drive a coach and horses through it.”
“That would not lessen the injustice,” said his mother.
“Could there not be a compromise?” said Allen.
“That is nonsense,” said his uncle. “Either this will stand, or that, and I am afraid this is the later. April 18th. Was that the time of that absurd practical joke of yours?”
“Too true,” said Allen. “You recollect the old brute said I should remember it.”
“Witnesses—? There’s Gomez, the servant who was drowned on his way out after his dismissal—Elizabeth Brook—is it—servant.—Who is to find her out?”
“Richards may know.”
“It is not our business to hunt up the witnesses. That’s the lookout of the other party,” said Bobus impatiently.
“You don’t suppose I mean to contest it?” said his mother. “It is bad enough to go on as we have been doing these eight years. I only want to know what is right and truth, and if this be a real will.”
“Where did it come from?” asked the Colonel, coming to the critical question. “Did you say you found it yourself, Caroline?”