“Well, Lu has got £500,” said he, “under father’s will. Parson and I are the executors. You must go and see the Parson when you get back to London; he’s an out-and-outer, and worth more than all the chaps at that jawing shop of yours put together. The money is out at interest, all but £200, which we’ve never raised yet, but for that matter I can pay it up whenever it’s wanted.”
“Of course,” said I, “I should wish all her fortune to be settled on her.”
“Yes, I forgot,” said he; “I suppose there ought to be some sort of tying-up done for the children. So I’ll go and see Lawyer Smith about it next market-day.”
“Perhaps you had better wait till after Christmas,” said I.
“Aye, aye,” said he, “I forgot. We may be running a tail scent after all. But, I say, Dick, if you get married, Lu can never live in those dirty, dark streets, and you away all day; she’d mope to death without a place for poultry, and a little bit of turf to cool her feet on.”
“Well,” said I, “you see I’ve got a bit of ground under a freehold land society, down the Great Northern line. It’s a very pretty place, and only five minutes’ walk from a station. I could build a house there in the spring, you know, and have the garden made.”
“That’ll do,” said he; “and if you want £100 or so, to finish it off as should be, why you know where to come for it.”
“Thank you,” said I, “but I think I can manage it.”
“I shall send her up those Spanish hens,” said he, looking up again presently from his pipe; “they won’t be no use here.”