“Cobbler” Horn’s cheeks blanched, and his lips quivered; but he instantly regained his self-control.
“That is my difficulty,” he said. “I had a child, but——”
“Ah!” interrupted Mr. Ball, “I understand. Very sad.”
“No, sir,” said “Cobbler” Horn sternly, “you do not understand. It is not as you think. But can I make my will in favour of a person who may, or may not, be alive?”
Mr. Ball was in no wise abashed.
“Do I take you, my dear sir? You——”
“The person,” interposed “Cobbler” Horn, “to whom I wish to leave my property is my little daughter, Marian, who wandered away twelve years ago, and has never been heard of since. Can I do it, gentlemen?”
“I think you can, Mr. Horn,” replied Mr. Ball. “In the absence of any proof of death, your daughter may be considered to be still alive. What do you say, Mr. Tongs?”
“Oh yes; to be sure; certainly,” exclaimed Mr. Tongs, who seemed to have been aroused from a reverie, and for whom it was enough that he was required to confirm some dictum of his partner.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Then please to note that I wish my property to pass, at my death, to my daughter, Marian Horn.”