"I was going to say that little things please little minds, but I won't," he began. "If you can find pleasure in such a trifle—well, you'm fortunate. I should have reckoned with all the misery there is in the world around you, that there'd be more pain than pleasure in——"
He broke off.
"'Tis the thought," explained Mr. Baskerville. "It shows that they young people feel towards me a proper and respectful feeling. It shows that they'd trust me to be a godparent to this newborn child. I know very well that folk are often asked just for the sake of a silver spoon, or a christening mug; but my nephew Rupert and his wife Milly be very different to that. There's no truckling in them. They've thought this out, and reckoned I'm the right man—old as I am. And naturally I feel well satisfied about it."
"Let that be, then. If you're pleased, their object be gained, for naturally they want to please you. Why not? You must die sooner or later, though nobody's better content than me to hear you'm doing so clever just at present. But go you must, and then there's your mighty fortune got to be left to something or somebody."
"Mighty's not the word, Jack."
"Ban't it? Then a little bird tells the people a lot of lies. And, talking of cash, I'm here over that matter myself."
But Humphrey was not interested in cash for the moment.
"They sent me a very well-written letter on the subject," he continued. "On the subject of the child. 'Twas more respectful to me and less familiar to put it in writing—so they thought. And I've written back a long letter, and you shall hear just how I wrote, if you please. There's things in my letter I'd rather like you to hear."
Mr. Head showed impatience, and the other was swift to mark it.
"Another time, if 'tis all the same to you," Jack replied. "Let me get off what's on my chest first. Then I'll be a better listener. I ha'n't got much use for second-hand wisdom for the moment."