"And she says I'll leave all my money to you, eh? Hum. Well, how'd you like it if I do?"
"I don't want it," said John with blunt force. He went on sturdily with his blanc-mange, arranging his strawberry jam carefully, that he should have an excess of that for the last spoonful.
Captain Carew stared surprisedly at him.
"Eh? What's that?" he asked.
"When you were as old as me," said John, lifting his carefully trimmed spoon to his mouth, "were you as rich as now?"
The question stirred the old man immediately. His eyes brightened, he put down his letter, pushed his glasses up high on his forehead and struck the table with one hand.
"I should think not," he said excitedly, "I should rather think not. As rich as now—God bless my life!"
"I thought you weren't," said John calmly.
"I can't remember my father and mother," said Captain Carew, speaking a little more quietly as his thoughts began to run backwards. "I lived with my uncle in London; he kept a ham and beef shop, and had thirteen or fourteen youngsters of his own to bring up. He was going to put me to the butchering, but I settled all that myself. I ran away."
"You ran away?" asked John breathlessly, and regarding the old man with more interest than he had ever given him yet.