What! You're legacy hunting, are
you, Mister Chuff? Eh?'
But Chuffey was as little conscious of the thought as of the bodily
advance of Mr Jonas's clenched fist, which hovered fondly about his ear.
When he had scowled at him to his heart's content, Jonas took the candle
from the table, and walking into the glass office, produced a bunch of
keys from his pocket. With one of these he opened a secret drawer in the
desk; peeping stealthily out, as he did so, to be certain that the two
old men were still before the fire.
'All as right as ever,' said Jonas, propping the lid of the desk open
with his forehead, and unfolding a paper. 'Here's the will, Mister
Chuff. Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old boy, and all the
rest to his only son, Jonas. You needn't trouble yourself to be too
affectionate. You won't get anything by it. What's that?'
It WAS startling, certainly. A face on the other side of the glass
partition looking curiously in; and not at him but at the paper in his
hand. For the eyes were attentively cast down upon the writing, and were
swiftly raised when he cried out.
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