Pepperill seated himself. He was as if stupefied. Then he put both elbows on the table, though the movement of his right arm pained him, and began to cry.
“That’s what I like,” said the lawyer. “Feeling, sentiment. It’s what we all ought to do. Amen. When grieving is done, there’s a couple of eggs left. But I like that. Heart in the right place. Quite so. What is your tipple? That’s very nice. Feeling—I love it. I didn’t know, though, that you had seen your uncle for twenty years, and cared twopence about him. P’r’aps you didn’t in times gone by; now, of course, it’s different with three thousand pounds. I respect your emotion; I love it. But cry when you go to bed. Eat now. There is a place and there is a time for everything. It does you credit, I shall make a point of mentioning it—no extra charge.”
END OF VOL. II.
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