CHAPTER IV "JOURNEY'S END"
For some days past, ever since Verneede's fiasco in fact, Leavesley had been very much down in the mouth.
There is a tide in the affairs of man that when it reaches its lowest ebb usually takes a turn. The tide had been out with Leavesley for some time, and acres of desolate mud spoke nothing of the rolling breakers that were coming in.
The first roller had arrived by the first post on this very morning. It was a letter from his uncle.
"Gordon Square.
"Dear Frank,—I am in bed with a bad foot, or I would ask you to call and see me.
"I want that five pounds back. I made a will some years ago, by which you benefited to the extent of two thousand pounds; I am destroying that will, and drafting another.
"It's this way. I don't intend to die just yet, and you may as well have the two thousand now, when it will be of use to you. Call on Bridgewater, he will hand you shares to the amount in the Great Western Railway. Take my advice and don't sell them, they are going to rise, but of course, as to this you are your own master.—Your affectionate uncle,
"James Hancock."
"Two thousand pounds!" yelled Leavesley, "Belinda!" (he had heard her foot on the stairs).
"Yessir."
"I've been left two thousand pounds." Belinda passed on her avocations; she thought it was another of Mr Leavesley's jokes.
He ate a tremendous breakfast without knowing what he was eating, and in the middle of it the second roller came in.