“Did any of you,” asked Miles of the general company, “ever hear of a chap called Solomon?”
“I—er—did,” answered Lacy, promptly. “His other name was—er—Fligg. The Reverend Solomon Fligg.”
“Oh, we’ve all heard of him! but I meant a rather more celebrated person. There is a story about him—I rather think it’s in Proverbs”—eliciting a yell of laughter. “Not Proverbs? Well, perhaps it’s in the Song of Solomon. It’s about two mothers, who each had a baby, and one of them managed to smother hers in the night, and finding it dead when she woke up in the morning, claimed the other baby. Of course the other woman kicked up a row, a regular shindy, and they came before Solomon to get the matter settled. ‘Both claim it,’ said he. ‘Oh, chop it in half, and let each have a share—’ But you all know the rest. How the real mother gave up her claim sooner than see the child halved. Now in this case, you see, Bootles hasn’t the heart to send the child off to the police-station, as he would if—”
“Here’s the colonel,” said some one at this point, and in less than two seconds he appeared.
“Why, Ferrers,” he said, “I’ve been hearing a queer tale about you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bootles, dismally; “and where it will end I don’t know! Here am I saddled—”
“Well, of course you know whether the child has any claim upon you—” the colonel began.
“Upon my honor it has not, colonel,” said Bootles, earnestly.
“Then that, of course, settles the question,” replied the colonel, with a frown at the grinning faces along the table. “I should send the child to the workhouse immediately.”