The officer in charge of the Legal Search Room sits with the official list of lost money before him—the funds in Chancery, which, by the way, are only sufficient to make one decent full-blown millionaire—as millionaires go nowadays.
"Yes," he said, "there are some strange searchers.
"In the summer many good, democratic Americans come over to trace their ancestry back to William the Conqueror!"
"And the lost heirs," I said—"the would-be dukes?"
"Ah!" he replied. "Ah!"
He sighed.
I noticed a shabby old man mournfully shuffling out. I felt certain that there was the ghost of ermine over him, and I hope that now and then his landlady, just to keep his poor heart up, drops a curtsy when she brings in the kippers and says: "Dinner is served—your grace."
Fish
Every morning at the uncomfortable hour of five a man in a peaked cap rings a big bell in Billingsgate Market and the lights go up. Then the haddocks and plaice, which you eat in due course, begin their commercial career.