Hereupon Sutherland, by way of entertaining his invalid friend, launched out into a graphic account of the scene he had so recently witnessed at McNeill’s zereba. When that subject was exhausted, he arranged his writing materials and began with all the solemnity of a lawyer.
“Noo, serjeant, what div ye want me to pit doon?”
“Well, I must explain first that I have very little to leave, and no one to leave it to.”
“What! Nae frien’s ava?”
“Not one. I have neither wife nor child, brother nor sister. I have indeed one old cousin, but he is rich, and would not be benefited by my poor little possessions; besides, he’s a cross-grained old fellow, and does not deserve anything, even though I had something worth leaving. However, I bear him no ill-will, poor man, only I don’t want what I do leave to go to him, which it would if I were to die without a will; because, of course, he is my natural heir, and—”
“Haud ye there, man,” said the Scot abruptly but slowly. “If he’s your nait’ral heir, ye’re his nait’ral heir tae, ye ken.”
“Of course, I am aware of that,” returned the sergeant with an amused look; “but the old man is eccentric, and has always boasted that he means to leave his wealth to some charity. Indeed, I know that he has already made his will, leaving his money to build an hospital—for incurables of some sort, I believe.”
“Ma certy! If I was his lawyer,” said Sutherland, with ineffable scorn, “I wad advise him to erec’ an hospital in his lifetime for incurable eediots, an’ to gang in himsel’ as the first patient. But, come awa wi’ yer wull, serjint.”
“Get ready, then, my lawyer, and see that you put it down all ship-shape, as poor Molloy would have said.”
“Oh, ye needna fear,” said the Scot, “I’m no’ sic an ass as to trust to my ain legal knowledge. But jist you say what ye want an’ I’ll pit it doon, and then write it into a form in the reg’lar way.”