ance from one illness when they happened (if ever they did) to
contract another: and this custom they extended even to that branch
of medical service which by tradition should be rewarded in ready
money. ("I always," explained a Polpier matron, "pays 'en ver one
when I engages 'en ver the next; an' the laast I'll never pay ver"--
and she never did.) On top of this, Polpier folk argued that
doctoring wasn't, like property, a gift which a man could pass on to
his heirs, and most certainly not if they happened to be--as they
were--a corn-factor and an aged maiden sister of independent but
exiguous means. "As _I_ look at it," some one put this argument, on
the Quay, "th' Old Doctor's mastery was a thing to hisself, and a
proper marvel at that. Us brought nothin' into the world, my sons
an' us can't carry nothin' out: but that don't mean as you can leave
it behind--leastways, not when it takes the form of professional
skill. . . . Why, put it to yourselves. Here's th' old man gone up
for his reward: an' you can hear th' Almighty sayin', 'Well done,
thou good an' faithful servant.'"--"Amen," from the listeners.--
"Yes, an' 'The labourer is worthy of his hire,' and what not.
'Well, then,' the Lord goes on, flatterin'-like, 'what about that
there talent I committed to 'ee? For I d' know _you_'re not the sort
to go hidin' it in a napkin.' An' d' 'ee reckon th' old chap'll be
cuttin' such a figure as to own up, 'Lord, I left it to a
corn-merchant'? Ridic'lous to suppose! . . . _The Lord giveth, an'
the Lord taketh away_. . . . With cottage property, I grant 'ee,
'tis another thing. Cottage property don't go on all-fours."

Nicky-Nan, then, guessed well enough what had happened. Almost in a
flash he had guessed it.

He had surprised the Old Doctor's secret, hidden all these years.
Folks used to make hoards of their money in the bygone days, when
Napoleon threatened to invade us and deposit banks were scarce.
And the Doctor, by all that tradition told, was never a man to break
a habit once formed. For more than the span of two generations this
wealth had lain concealed; and now _he--he_, Nicholas Nanjivell--was
a rich man, if only he played his cards well!

With how sure an instinct he had clung to the old house!--had held on
to this relic of a past gentility to which by rights he belonged!

He was a rich man now, and would defy Pamphlett and all his works--

How pleasant it is to have money, heigho!
How