s
office before, and I hope I shan't again if this is the kind of room
they put one into."

"Room!" ejaculated the irate gentleman, "call it a dog kennel, call it
a cesspool, for, by heaven, it smells like one, but in the interests of
truth, young man, don't call it a room."

"Now that you mention it, there is a queer odour. Perhaps a dead rat
under the floor," suggested Godfrey.

"Twenty dead rats, probably, since I imagine that this hole has not
been cleaned since the time of George II. We are martyrs in this world,
Sir. I come here to attend to the affairs of some whippersnapper whom I
never saw and never want to see, just because Helen Ogilvy, who was my
first cousin, chooses to make me a trustee of her confounded will, in
which she leaves money to the confounded whippersnapper, God knows why.
This whippersnapper has a father, a parson, who can write the most
offensive letters imaginable. I received one of them this morning,
accusing the whippersnapper of all sorts of vague things, and me and my
fellow trustee, who is at present enjoying himself travelling, of
abetting him. I repeat, damn Ranson, Richards and Son; damn the parson,
damn Helen--no, I won't say that, for she is dead--and especially damn
the whippersnapper. Don't you agree with me?"

"Not quite, Sir," said Godfrey. "I don't mind about Ranson, Richards
and Son, or anybody else, but I don't quite see why you should damn me,
who, I am sure, never wished to give you any trouble."

"You! And who the Hades may you be?"

"I am Godfrey Knight, and I suppose that you are my trustee, or one of
them."

"Godfrey Knight, the young man whose father gives us so much trouble,
all at our own expense, I may remark. Well, after hearing so much of
you on paper, I'm deuced glad to meet you in the flesh. Come into the
light, if you can call it light, and let me have a look at you."

Godfrey stepped beneath the dirty pane and was contemplated through an
eyeglass by this breezy old gentleman, who exclaimed presently:

"You're all right, I think; a fine figure of a young man, not bad
looking, either, but you want drilling. Why the devil don't you go into
the army?"

"I don't know," answered Godfrey, "never thought of it. Are you in the
army, Sir?"

"No, not now, though I was. Commanded my regiment for five years, and
then kicked out with the courtesy title of Major-General. Cubitte is my
name, spelt with two 't's' and an 'e,' please, and don't you forget
that, si