And there's those people up
at Aygon Castle. Bitter, cruel, hard to each other. Pulling this way and
that, until their hearts must break with the strain of the fray--and
with the whole structure of their dear inheritance forever with them, so
that they need never hunger and thirst for a sight of it as--as others
do. Heigho! but it's a topsy-turvy, crazy sort of a world we live in,
isn't it?"

Something in the tone of Cleek's voice caused Dollops instantly to
pause. Eyes wide, mouth open, face gone suddenly pale, he set down his
knife and fork and reaching a shaking hand across the table laid it upon
Cleek's.

"Guv'nor," he said, in a scared, hushed sort of voice, "you ain't
a-wishin' ter go back--to all them Maurevanian royalties, are yer? Wiv a
throne an' a crahn and a bloomin' spectur in yer 'and? You ain't
a-pinin' fer the Crash Pots, I 'opes? For as sure as I know anyfink of
anybody, they'd never let sich folks as Mr. Narkom an'--an'--me come
within twenty miles of yer. And you ain't--ain't wishin' ter l-lose us,
are yer, sir? It would fair break my 'eart if I thought _that_."

Cleek put back his head and laughed, laughed heartily, with his eyes
wet. There was a sob in the boy's voice as he spoke, and the look of
injured worship in his eyes would have wrung tears from a stone. Cleek
stopped laughing suddenly, and sat forward and looked straight at the
boy.

"Dollops," he said quietly, "I wouldn't barter _this_ inheritance--of
Love--which the good Lord has given me, for all the thrones and
'specturs' and 'crash-pots' that the world could hold. For true
friendship is the best inheritance of all. But there are times when a
man must be allowed to go down into the deeps of his memory and take a
maudlin joy in counting over the hidden pearls there. I've no doubt you
do it yourself, lad--and shed a tear in solitude for the days when you
had a mother to care for you, and you weren't just a frightened little
sinner of an orphan boy."

"An' that's where you're dead wrong, sir," gave back Dollops with a
vigorous nod of the head. "Fer I never does anyfink of the sort. Me
muvver--Gawd 'elp 'er!--were a bruiser an' a footballer in one, an'
there weren't an inch o' me poor little body which didn't 'ave a score
of bruises upon it. As for me farver--well, I doesn't remember 'im, and
no doubt it's a good fing, too.... No, sir, you've bin and gone and
missed the bull's eye this time. I ain't no Wistful Willie, I ain't.
You've b