is portion of currant dumpling.

"Put that down your neck," he said, "and don't you think so bad of me in
future. I treat other people same as they treat me, and that's a rule
that works out pretty fair in practice, if you've got the power to
follow it. But some folks are too weak to treat other people as they are
treated--you, for example. You're one of the unlucky ones, you are, Abel
Dinnett."

Abel enjoyed the pudding; and still his mind dwelt more on future
narration of this great incident than on the incident itself. With
unconscious art, he felt that the moment when this tale was told, would
be far greater for him than the moment when it happened.

"I ain't unlucky, Mister Baggs. I would have been unlucky if you'd beat
me; but you've give me your pudding, and I'm on your side till death
now."

"Well, that's something. I ain't got many my side, I believe. The
fearless thinker never has. You can come and see me when you mind to,
because I'm sorry for you, owing to your bad fortune. You've been
handicapped out of winning the race, Abel. You know what a handicap is
in a race? Well, you won't have no chance of winning now, because your
father won't own you."

"I won't own him," said the boy. "Granny always told me he was my
bitterest enemy, and she knew, and I won't trust him--never."

"I should think not--nor any other wise chap wouldn't trust him. He's a
bad lot. He only believes in machines, not humans."

The boy began to be receptive.

"He wants to be friends, but I won't be his friend, because I hate him.
Only I don't tell mother, because she don't hate him so much as me."

"More fool her, then. She ought to hate him. She's got first cause. Do
you know who ought to own these works when your father dies?"

"No, Mister Baggs."

"You. Yes, they did ought to belong to you in justice, because you are
his eldest son. Everything ought to be yours, if the world were run by
right and fairness and honour. But it's all took from you and you can't
lift a finger to better yourself, because you're only his natural son,
and Nature may go to hell every time for all the Law and the Church
care. Church and Law both hate Nature. So that's why I say you're an
unlucky boy; and that's why I say that, despite your father's money and
fame and being popular and well thought on and all that, he's a cruel
rogue."

Abel was puzzled but interested.

"If I'm his boy, why ain't my mother his wife, like all the other chaps'
fath