gatee had had
reason to expect that the bulk of the whole would be left to him. Still
the testator sat staring at what he had just effected, as if it were
something he did not relish at all, and in fact, no more he did. Then
an interruption occurred in the shape of a knock at the door and the
entrance of a servant.

"Canon Lenthall is here, Sir Luke, and would be glad to know if you can
see him?"

"Eh? Yes, certainly. Show him up here. The very thing," he added to
himself. "I'll take Dick's opinion about it. Ah, there he is. Come
in, Canon. Real glad to see you, especially just now."

"Nothing wrong, Canterby?" said the other, as the two men shook hands
cordially.

"Don't know about wrong, Dick. But I'm in a puzzle over something, and
you always had a sound judgment. Sit down."

The Very Reverend Richard Lenthall was one of the canons attached to the
Roman Catholic Cathedral in the adjacent town of Passmore; and the
difference in their creeds notwithstanding, for Sir Luke did not profess
the ancient faith, the two men had been fast friends for nearly a
lifetime. In aspect and manner they were totally dissimilar. The
priest was a broad, thick-set man of medium height, with a strong but
jovial face, square-jawed and surmounted by a fine forehead, and
illuminated by a pair of fine dark eyes, wonderfully searching, as they
gazed forth from beneath bushy brows. He had a brisk, hearty, genial
manner, differing entirely from the somewhat reposeful and dignified one
of his friend. But mentally, both had many points in common--notably a
keen sense of humour--and a delight in studying the contrasts and
ironies of the satirical side of life.

"What's the puzzle?" he now said, dropping into a chair.

"I'll tell you. Oh, by the way, let me ring for a glass of wine for you
after your walk."

"No, thanks. I'll wait till lunch. I'm going to stop and lunch with
you, but I'll have to get away directly after."

"As to that you know your own business best. Look here, old friend,
advise me. Do you know what this confounded document is?" holding it
up.

"Um. It might be a lease, or a deed of partnership--or of sale."

"No. Try again."

"Or your will."

"You've struck it. That's just what it is. The draft of my will.
And--I want you to read it."

"Why?"

"Because I want your opinion, man--doesn't it stand to reason?"

"See here, Luke," said the other, and there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Aren't y