Chapter XVII: Act I

SCENE.--_A shabby but pretentious sitting-room in COLONEL O’FIPP’S
house. Breakfast laid. Enter TOM COBB, with open letter in his
hand._

_Tom._ I haven’t a penny--I haven’t the ghost of a prospect of a penny. In debt everywhere, and now I’m told that judgment’s been signed against me for £250 by the cruellest Jew in Christendom! Upon my soul, it’s enough to make a fellow shy things about, I swear it is! But everything always _did_ go wrong with me, even before I was born, for I was always expected to be a girl, and turned out something quite different, and no fault of mine, I’m sure! (_Producing pistol._) Oh, if I was only quite, quite sure I knew how to load it, I’d blow my brains out this minute! I would, upon my word and honour!

_Enter MATILDA._

_Mat._ Eh! and what good ’ld that do, dear?

_Tom._ It would rid the world of an unhappy wretch. The world’s a beast, and I hate it.

_Mat._ Then if you hate it, what d’ye want to be doing it a good turn for? Sure it would be a bad bargain, lovey, for _you’d_ lose the world, whereas the world ’ld only lose _you_. (_Takes pistol away from him._)

_Tom._ There’s truth in that.

_Mat._ If I was you, dear, I’d go on living to spite it.

_Tom._ Oh, ain’t that small! Oh, ain’t that like a woman!

_Mat._ And, after all, ye’re not so badly off. Don’t ye board and lodge on nominal turr’ms with a rale cornel?

_Tom._ Yes, that’s true enough.

_Mat._ And ain’t ye engaged to a rale cornel’s daughter? And isn’t _that_ something to live for? (_Goes to table and cuts bread and butter._)

_Tom_ (_seated_). Oh, I’ve plenty to live _for_, but I’ve nothing to live _on_. Upon my word, Matilda, when you come to think of it, it _is_ a most extraordinary thing that I can’t get any patients! I’m a qualified practitioner, right enough! I’ve passed the College of Surgeons!

_Mat._ So have I, dear, often.

_Tom._ You can’t be more a surgeon than I am, put it how you will; but nobody seems to know it, and I’m sure I don’t know how to tell ’em. I can’t send sandwich men about with advertisements--the College wouldn’t like that. I can’t hang placards out from a real colonel’s balcony, “Walk up, walk up, this is the Shop for Amputations!” or, “To married couples and others”--the Horse Guards wouldn’t like that. (_Taking up carving-knife._) Upon my word, Matilda, when I look at you, and reflect that there isn’t an operation in the whole range of practical surgery that I shouldn’t be delighted to perform upon you at five minutes’ notice for nothing, why, it _does_ seem a most extraordinary thing that I can’t get any patients!

_Enter COLONEL O’FIPP, in seedy, showy dressing-gown._

_O’Fi._ Good mornin’, Thomas; Matilda, my own, the mornin’ to ye. (_Kisses her._) Breakfast ready? That’s well. Good appetite, Thomas? (_They sit to breakfast._)

_Tom._ Tremendous. (_Taking an egg._)

_O’Fi._ (_aside_). Then I’ll spile it for ye. (_Aloud._) Don’t crack that egg till you’re sure ye’ll want it. (_Takes it from him._) Thomas Cobb, I’m goin’ to have a wurr’d or two with ye about your prospects, sorr.

_Tom._ Oh, Lord! (_Turns away from his breakfast._)

_O’Fi._ When I gave my consint to yer engagement with me beautiful and beloved daughter---- Don’t cry, my child.

_Mat._ No, pa. (_Takes an egg._)

_O’Fi._ Ye tould me ye were about to purchase a practice; and, like a simple old soldier, I believed ye.

_Mat._ Sure, and so he was. Didn’t ye introduce him to Ben Isaacs, and didn’t he lend him the money to do it?

_Tom._ Which your papa immediately exchanged for bills.

_O’Fi._ Which is another turr’m for money.

_Tom._ Another term for money?

_Mat._ Papa has always been accustomed to regard his I.O.U.’s as currency.

_Tom._ Why, who do you suppose would sell me a practice for a bundle of your I.O.U.’s?

_O’Fi._ My name, sorr, is considered in the City to be as good for a thousand pounds as for a hundred.

_Mat._ Papa’s is one of the oldest names in the kingdom.

_O’Fi._ Yes, sorr. And let me tell ye it’s on some of the oldest bills in the kingdom, too. Such is the value of my name that I suppose I have renewed oftener than any man aloive! And it isn’t every man that can say _that_!

_Tom._ But when I try to discount your paper, capitalists always say, “Who’s O’Fipp?” And when I tell ’em he’s a colonel, they say, “What’s he a colonel of?”

_O’Fi._ Colonel of a regiment, to be sure.

_Tom._ Yes, but in what service?

_O’Fi._ Never mind the surrvice, sorr. It was the 27th ridgment of it. That’s enough for any man. There’s many a surrvice besides the British surrvice, I believe, sorr?

_Tom._ Oh, I believe there’s a good many.

_O’Fi._ There’s the Spanish surrvice, sorr--and the Hungarian surrvice--and the Italian surrvice, and the French surrvice, and the----

_Mat._ And the dinner surrvice.

_Tom._ And the Church Service.

_O’Fi._ No, sorr. When a gintleman asks me my ridgment, he has a right to know it, and I tell him at once. But when he asks me in what surrvice, sorr, why that’s a piece of impertinent curiosity, and I ask him “what the devil he means by it?”

_Tom._ Oh, I’m sure _I_ don’t care; the regiment’s quite enough for _me_. But then I ain’t a capitalist.

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr, let us come to the p’int. For two months ye’ve been engaged to my lovely and accomplished daughter---- Don’t cry, my love. (_To MATILDA._)

_Mat._ No, pa. (_Takes an egg._)

_O’Fi._ And ye’re as far from marrying her as iver. Now during the last two months my poor child’s been wastin’ the best years of her loife, and she can’t wait much longer.--Can ye, Matilda?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I can’t then. I’m twenty-noine and a bit.

_O’Fi._ She’s twenty-noine--and a bit! Now it’s roight to tell ye, and you too, Matilda, that a gintleman of good birth, irreproachable morals, and a considerable command of ready money, has done me the honour to propose for me daughter’s hand. I say no more, sorr. As a man of honour there’s two courses open to ye, and I leave ye to decide which of ’em ye’ll take. [_Exit._

_Tom_ (_in great grief_). Matilda, did you hear that?

_Mat._ Yes, Tom, I heard that.

_Tom_ (_furious_). Who is the scoundrel who has dared to aspire to your hand?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t know, but it’ll be some one who’s lendin’ money to papa. I ginerally go with the bills.

_Tom_ (_aghast_). What!

_Mat._ When a body falls in love with me, papa ginerally borrows money of him, and he gives bills, and I go with ’em. It’s a rule of the family. (_Rises._)

_Tom._ But surely you’ll never countenance such a bargain?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t want to, Tom dear, but I’ve countenanced it for thirteen years, and sure it ’ld look odd to refuse now. Besides, dear, I’m not as young as I was.

_Tom._ No, but then you’re not as old as you might be.

_Mat._ No, but I’m as old as I mean to be. There’s razin for ye, Tom, and ye want it.

_Tom._ Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to do; I’m at my wits’ end.

_Mat._ Then it’s the beginning end, and there’s hope for ye yet. (_Knock._)

_Tom._ Who’s that?

_Mat._ There, now, if it ain’t your friend Whipple’s carriage!

_Tom._ Whipple! Whipple with a carriage! A fool, an impostor, a quack, with a carriage! What does he want to come flaunting his one-horse fly in my face for? There, I actually did that man’s botany papers for him at the College, and now he’s rolling in fever patients,--literally _rolling_ in fever patients,--while I haven’t one to my back!

_Mat._ Well, maybe he’ll help ye if ye ask him. He’s a pleasant man.

_Tom._ Pleasant, is he? I don’t know what you call pleasant. Why, there’s a squalid old pauper idiot, a patient of his, who’s got no name of his own, and Whipple christened him Tom Cobb, because he says he’s the ugliest old lunatic he ever saw and reminds him of me. And all the boys in the neighbourhood have taken it up, and he’s been known as Tom Cobb for the last two years. That’s pleasant of Whipple.

_Mat._ Sure, it’s his joke.

_Tom._ Yes, I know it’s his joke, but I don’t like his joke. One Tom Cobb’s enough at a time, and--(_taking out pistol_)--if I was only quite, quite sure I knew how to load it, I’d snuff one of ’em out this minute. I would; upon my word and honour, I would! [_Exit COBB._

_Mat._ Poor Tom! He’s an innocent boy, and he’s fond of me, and I like him too, and it’s a pity he ain’t rich. And now who’s the gentleman with the command of ready money who’s proposed for me, I’d like to know?

_Enter BIDDY._

_Bid._ Mr. Whipple. [_Exit BIDDY._

_Enter WHIPPLE._

_Whi._ Miss Matilda, don’t think me premature for calling, but I came because I really couldn’t wait any longer.

_Mat._ And ye did right; sit ye down.

_Whi._ I couldn’t help it; you’re not angry? (_Sits._)

_Mat._ Not I! If ye couldn’t help it, what were ye to do? (_Sits._)

_Whi._ I declare I haven’t slept a wink all night from anxiety.

_Mat._ Would ye like to take a snooze on the sofa?

_Whi._ A snooze? Miss Matilda, hasn’t your father told you?

_Mat._ Told me--told me what?

_Whi._ Why, that I----

_Mat._ Ye niver mean to sit there and tell me ye’re the young gintleman of high family, unblemished morals, and considerable command of ready money?

_Whi._ That’s me--he _has_ told you. Yes, Miss Matilda, I have dared----

_Mat._ But don’t ye know I’m engaged to your friend, Tom Cobb?

_Whi._ Tom Cobb! Yes, I know you are. A mule, a clod, an unsuccessful clod. Yes, I know he’s tied to you as a log is tied to the leg of a runaway donkey. I beg your pardon--I don’t mean that; but you can’t really love him?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I like him very well then. He’s a good boy. But tell me now--is it bills?

_Whi._ (_rather taken aback_). Well, yes; since you put it like that, it _is_ bills.

_Mat._ Then I tell ye what, Mr. Whipple; I’m tired of being handed over with stamped paper.

_Whi._ (_earnestly_). There was _no_ stamp on it; indeed, there was no stamp on it. It was an I.O.U.

_Mat._ It’s the same thing. I like Tom Cobb better than I like you, and if he’ll marry me in a month I’ll have him, and if he won’t, why I’ll talk to you. There’s your answer now, and don’t bother again.

_Whi._ In a month! (_Aside._) In a month! He _shan’t_ marry her in a month! If I can only manage to get him out of the way, and keep him there for a few weeks! (_Suddenly._) I’ll do it! It’ll cost money, but I’ll do it.

_Enter TOM COBB._

Ah! Tom, my boy, I’m delighted to see you; how uncommonly jolly you’re looking, to be sure!

_Tom_ (_very miserably_). Yes, I should say I was looking uncommonly jolly.

_Whi._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Tom._ Why, a good many things; and look here, Whipple, I wish next time you want a godfather for a nameless pauper you’d choose somebody else.

_Whi._ Oh! you mean ugly old Tom Cobb! I beg your pardon--but he was so like you I couldn’t help it. But there, that needn’t distress you--for he died last night, and there’s an end of him. Never mind, old boy, I’ll make it up to you some day.

_Tom_ (_suddenly_). Will you? Whipple, I’m in an awful fix about Ben Isaacs’ bills; now you’re well off--I did your botany paper for you at the College--will you lend me £250 on my personal security? I want a plain answer--yes or no.

_Whi._ My dear boy, of course; with pleasure.

_Tom_ (_delighted and surprised_). My dear Whipple!

_Whi._ You shall have it, of course. (_Feeling for his handkerchief._)

_Tom._ When?

_Whi._ Why, now, if you like.

_Tom._ What--the money?

_Whi._ No; the plain answer. (_Takes out handkerchief, uses it, and returns it._) I haven’t a penny at my bankers. I’ve lent it all--to the colonel. What have you done with the money?

_Tom._ Well, _I_ lent it all to--the Colonel. He borrowed it the very day he agreed to my engagement with Matilda; didn’t he, dear?

_Mat._ (_clearing away breakfast things_). Just that very same day, dear. Directly after I told him ye were going to propose for me, and immediately before ye did it.

_Whi._ Good soldier, the Colonel.

_Tom._ Oh, he didn’t borrow it because he wanted it; he borrowed it to prevent my wasting it in foolishness. He said so; but I _should_ like to have a go in at some foolishness now and then, if it was only a pair of trousers or half a dozen socks.

_Mat._ Yes, ye want socks. [_Exit MATILDA with breakfast things._

_Tom._ But what’s the use of socks to a man who’s going to blow his brains out? Whipple, I do assure you on my honour, if I knew a safe and perfectly painless way of popping out of this world into comfortable quarters in the next, I’d adopt it--upon my word and honour, I’d adopt it!

_Whi._ (_suddenly_). Do you mean that?

_Tom._ Yes, I mean that.

_Whi._ Then I’ll help you. Now, observe: my old pauper patient, Tom Cobb, died last night. He hasn’t a friend or relation in the world to claim him. Well, I certify to his death, and he’s comfortably buried, and there’s an end of old Tom Cobb.

_Tom._ The ugly one?

_Whi._ The ugly one, of course.

_Tom._ I don’t see what you’re driving at.

_Whi._ Don’t you? Why, if Tom Cobb’s dead and buried, what becomes of the bill Tom Cobb gave Ben Isaacs?

_Tom._ But the ugly Tom Cobb never gave a bill. (_A light breaks upon him._) Oh, you cunning devil!

_Whi._ Now then, what d’ye say to dying by deputy?

_Tom._ By Jove, it’s worth thinking of.

_Whi._ Worth thinking of? It’s worth jumping at without stopping to think at all.

_Tom._ I believe you’re right. (_After a pause._) I’ll do it! I’m a dead man! I can come to life again, I suppose, when I like?

_Whi._ Oh yes, under another name. But you’ll have to hide away for a few months.

_Tom._ Oh, ah; but (_turning out his pockets_) how about burial fees?

_Whi._ Will five and twenty pounds do it?

_Tom._ Five and twenty pounds will just do it.

_Whi._ Then come along at once to my house, and take leave of this life.

_Tom._ But you’ll let me take a last farewell of Matilda?

_Whi._ No, no; bother Matilda! (_Taking his arm._)

_Tom._ Oh, but you mustn’t bother Matilda!

_Whi._ Now, now, do come along.

_Tom._ Hang it all, let me see her before the tomb closes over me for three months!

_Whi._ No, you can write to her; now, come at once, or I won’t help you.

_Tom._ Then farewell, Matilda; I go to my doom. Whipple, during my decease I confide her to you. Be a mother to her. (_Kissing photograph._) Farewell, unhappy Matilda; be true to my memory, for I’m as good as dead, and you’re engaged to a body! (_He staggers out wildly, followed by WHIPPLE.)_

_Enter MATILDA._

_Mat._ Now, where’s he gone with Whipple, I’d like to know? That Whipple’s up to some bedevilment with him, I’ll go bail.

_Enter BIDDY._

_Bid._ Please, miss, here’s a young lady as says she must see you, and won’t take no denial.

_Mat._ A young lady?

_Enter CAROLINE, in great agitation. She is a romantic-looking young
lady, with long curls and gushing, poetical demeanour. She pauses
melodramatically._

_Car._ Matilda! Don’t ye know me?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t. Why, if it isn’t my old schoolfellow, Carrie Effingham! It’s Carrie, as I’m a living sinner!

_Car._ Yes; I came to town yesterday; and though ten long weary years have flown since last we met, I could not pass my dear old friend’s abode without one effort to awake those slumbering chords that, struck in unison, ever found ready echoes in our sister hearts.

_Mat._ Why, ye talk nonsense as well as ever, dear; but I’m glad to see ye. (_She sits. CAROLINE kneels at her feet._)

_Car._ How well--how very well you’re looking--and, heavens! how lovely!

_Mat._ Yes, dear. Ye’re lookin’ older. Ye’re not married yet, I suppose?

_Car._ Alas, no! (_Wiping her eyes._)

_Mat._ Don’t fret, dear; it’ll come.

_Car._ Oh, Matilda, a maiden’s heart should be as free as the summer sun itself; and it’s sad when, in youth’s heyday, its trilling gladness has been trodden underfoot by the iron-shod heel of a serpent!

_Mat._ Yes; it’s sad when that’s happened. Tell me all about it.

_Car._ Swear that, come what may, no torture shall ever induce you to reveal the secret I am going to confide to you?

_Mat._ Oh, I’ll swear that with pleasure.

_Car._ Will you believe me when I tell you that--I have loved?

_Mat._ Oh yes!

_Car._ And that I have been loved in return?

_Mat._ Well, ye--es. Oh yes; it’s possible.

_Car._ He was a poet-soldier, fighting the Paynim foe in India’s burning clime--a glorious songster, who swept the lute with one hand, while he sabred the foe with the other!

_Mat._ Was he in the band?

_Car._ The band! He was a major-general! (_Rises._)

_Mat._ Oh! Handsome?

_Car._ I know not. I never saw him.

_Mat._ Ye never saw him?

_Car._ I never saw his face; but--I have seen his soul!

_Mat._ What’s his soul like?

_Car._ Like? Like the frenzied passion of the antelope! Like the wild fire of the tiger-lily! Like the pale earnestness of some lovesick thunder-cloud that longs to grasp the fleeting lightning in his outstretched arms!

_Mat._ Was he often like that?

_Car._ Always!

_Mat._ A pleasant man in furnished lodgings! And where did ye see his soul?

_Car._ (_sits_). He poured it into the columns of the _Weybridge Watchman_, the local paper of the town that gave him birth. Dainty little poems, the dew of his sweet soul, the tender frothings of his soldier brain. In them I read him, and in them I loved him! I wrote to him for his autograph--he sent it. I sent him my photograph, and directly he saw it he proposed in terms that cloyed me with the sweet surfeit of their choice exuberance, imploring me at the same time to reply by telegraph. Then, maiden-like, I longed to toy and dally with his love. But Anglo-Indian telegraphic rates are high; so, much against my maiden will, I answered in one word--that one word, yes!

_Mat._ And ye’ve engaged yerself to a man whose face ye’ve niver seen?

_Car._ I’ve seen his soul!

_Mat._ And when d’ye think ye’ll see his body?

_Car._ Alas, never! for (pity me) he is faithless! We corresponded for a year, and then his letters ceased; and now, for eighteen months, no crumb nor crust of comfort has appeased my parched and thirsting soul! Fortunately my solicitor has all his letters.

_Mat._ Oh, I see. And when does the action come off?

_Car._ I know not. We have advertised for him right and left. Twenty men of law are on his track, and my brother Bulstrode, an attorney’s clerk, carries a writ about him night and day. Thus my heart-springs are laid bare that every dolt may gibe at them--the whole county rings with my mishap--its gloomy details are on every bumpkin’s tongue! This--this is my secret. Swear that you will never reveal it!

_Mat._ Oh! but ye’ll get thumping damages when ye _do_ find him.

_Car._ It may be so. The huckstering men of law appraise my heart-wreck at five thousand pounds!

_Mat._ Well, and I wish ye may get it, dear!

_Car._ Thank you, oh! thank you for that wish.

_Mat._ Ye’re not goin’?

_Car._ No; I have come to spend a long, long day. I’m going to take my bonnet off. (_Solemnly._) Dear Matilda, we have not met for many many years, and I long--I cannot tell you, Matilda, how earnestly I long--to see all your new things!

[_Exeunt together, as O’FIPP enters._

_O’Fi._ There’s an ungrateful daughter to refuse Whipple, and me pinched for money till I can hardly raise an egg for breakfast. But she shan’t have Tom Cobb anyhow. I’ll see to that! A pretty kettle of fish I’m boiling for myself. When I’ve sent Tom Cobb about his business, what’ll the ongrateful villain do? Why, he’ll sue on them bills o’ mine, as if I’d never bin the next thing to a father-in-law to him! But that’s the way with mean and thankless naturs. Do ’em an injustice and they’re never satisfied till they’ve retaliated!

_Enter MATILDA with letter, and pretending to cry._

_Mat._ Papa dear, I’ve bad news for you.

_O’Fi._ Bad news? At whose suit?

_Mat._ It ain’t that, dear; it’s my Tom.

_O’Fi._ And what’s the scamp been doin’ now?

_Mat._ The scamp’s bin dyin’.

_O’Fi._ Dying? What d’ye mean?

_Mat._ I mean Tom’s dead.

_O’Fi._ (_looking at her sternly_). Matilda, are ye in earnest, or have ye bin at the eau de Cologne?

_Mat._ Oh! I’m in earnest. Tom’s dead.

_O’Fi._ Who’s killed him?

_Mat._ Faith, an’ he killed himself. He’s written to say so. Here’s his letter. He encloses yer two bills and app’ints ye his executor.

_O’Fi._ Ye pain and surproise me more than I can tell ye. Poor Tom! He was a koind and ginerous lad, and I’d hoped to have met these bills under happier circumstances. Well, his executor deals with them now--that’s me; and the question is whether, in the interests of Tom’s estate, it would be worth while to proceed against the acceptor--that’s me again; and, on the whole, I don’t recommend it. (_Tears them up._) Now, tell me all about it; don’t cry, my child.

_Mat._ No, pa. Well, it’s loike this--Ben Isaacs was overpressin’, and poor Tom was bothered, and thought he’d make an end of himself; and just then he heard that the ould man, that Whipple called Tom Cobb from the loikeness, had just died. So Tom thought he’d make one death do for the two. Sure, he’s been economically brought up.

_O’Fi._ What! Am I to onderstand that Thomas Cobb has been troiflin’ with the most sacred feelings of an old soldier’s grey-headed ould harr’t?

_Mat._ Well, he’s shamming dead, if ye mean that, and he hopes you’ll go to the funeral!

_O’Fi._ (_rises_). Shamming dead, is he! Shamming dead! Let me come across him, and by the blood of the O’Fipps, I’ll make him sham dead in rale earnest!

_Mat._ But, papa dear, the boy’s hard pressed!

_O’Fi._ Don’t interrupt an honest burst of feelin’ in an old military officer. For months I’ve looked forward like a simple ould soldier to meetin’ those bills, and now I’ve destroyed them, and deproived meself of a pleasure which might have lasted me the next twenty years! But I’ll expose him. It’s a croime of some sort, pretendin’ to be dead when ye’re not. It’s obtainin burial under false pretences, if it’s nothing else! What’s that?

_Mat._ (_with paper in her hand_). It’s his will! (_Laughing._)

_O’Fi._ (_indignantly_). His will!

_Mat._ Yes; would ye have a gintleman doi without a will?

_O’Fi._ A gintleman! A beggarly scoundrel! (_Opens it._) Ha, ha! He leaves ye everything, Matilda! It’s duly signed and witnessed, all quite in form! By my soul, I congratulate ye on yer accession to fortune and prosperity!

_Mat._ It’s just done to give colour to his death. Don’t be hasty, dear. It’s the first time I’ve been mentioned in a will, and maybe it’ll be the last. (_Laughing._)

_O’Fi._ (_furious_). Mentioned in a will! It’s an outrage--a sacrilege, I tell ye--an insult to a simple ould officer and his deluded gyurl, to mention them in a swindlin’ document that’s not worth the ink it’s written with! This is how I treat it, Matilda. (_Crumpling it up._) This is how I treat it (_throws it in the fire_); and if that thief, Tom Cobb, was here, I’d crumple him too and send him after it!

_Enter WHIPPLE, breathless and much excited._

_Whi._ Oh, Colonel!

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr?

_Whi._ Here’s news! My old man, the ugly old man who always went by the name of Tom Cobb----

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr?

_Whi._ He died last night! Poor ugly old Tom Cobb died last night.

_Mat._ We know all about it; we knew it half an hour ago.

_Whi._ Yes, Matilda, but you don’t know this: I went to his cottage this morning, and on the bed I found a hasty scrawled note written by the old man just before he died. (_COLONEL becomes interested._) It contained these words, “Look under the fireplace.” I got a crowbar, raised the hearth, and under it I found gold--gold,--silver and bank-notes in profusion! No end of gold--you could roll in it, you could roll in it! And he hasn’t a friend or relation in the world!

[_COLONEL O’FIPP, during the last few lines, has hurriedly snatched
the will out of the fire, and smoothed it out, unobserved. He
produces it with a dignified air._

_Whi._ What’s that?

_O’Fi._ This, sorr, is the poor old gintleman’s will, in which he leaves everything to my beloved daughter.

_Whi._ But that’s not _old_ Tom Cobb’s will! That’s the will young Tom Cobb made in fun just now!

_O’Fi._ Sorr, old Tom Cobb’s dead, and here’s a will signed “Tom Cobb.” Put that and that together, and what d’ye make of it? [_WHIPPLE falls into a chair amazed._