“Rather a heavy bill, I should imagine.”
“I’ve done myself well, Christopher.”
“And how are you going to pay that bill? And what are you going to do afterwards?”
“I thought of those accumulations. I went down to see the old man. He’s quite well and hearty—wouldn’t speak to me. Pretends to be deaf and dumb. But the housekeeper says he understands everything. So he knows of my existence. The woman gave me the address of his solicitors, and I’ve been to see them. I wanted an advance, you know, just a little advance on the accumulations.”
“Ah!”
“But they won’t acknowledge that they have any power. ‘My dear Sir,’ I said, ‘I don’t ask whether you have any power or not—I don’t care whether you advance me a thousand on my reversionary interest, or whether you lend it yourself.’ No, sir, the fellow wouldn’t budge. Said I must prove the possession of reversionary interest: said he wasn’t a money-lender: said I had better go to a bank and show security. Here I am one of the heirs to a noble fortune. I don’t know how much, but it must be something enormous. Why, his estate is worth £6,000 a year, and I know that there was money besides which he had from his mother. Enormous! Enormous! And here I am wanting a poor thousand.”
“It seems hard, doesn’t it? But, then, are you sure that you are one of the heirs?”
“The old man is off his head. Everything will be divided. He can’t live long.”
“No. But he may live five or six years more.”
“Well, Christopher, the long and the short of it is that you will have to find that money. You may charge interest: you may take my bond: you will do what you like: but I must have that money.”