his_ hand you've got there, not
mine."

"_Well!_" says the lawyer, "this _is_ a state of things. I've got some
of William's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so
we can com--"

"He _can't_ write with his left hand," says the old gentleman. "If he
could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters
and mine too. Look at both, please--they're by the same hand."

The lawyer done it, and says:

"I believe it's so--and if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger
resemblance than I'd noticed before, anyway. Well, well, well! I
thought we was right on the track of a slution, but it's gone to
grass, partly. But anyway, _one_ thing is proved--_these_ two ain't
either of 'em Wilkses"--and he wagged his head towards the king and
the duke.

Well, what do you think? That mule-headed old fool wouldn't give in
_then!_ Indeed he wouldn't. Said it warn't no fair test. Said his
brother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't
_tried_ to write--_he_ see William was going to play one of his jokes
the minute he put the pen to paper. And so he warmed up and went
warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he
was saying _himself_; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and
says:

"I've thought of something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay
out my br--helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?"

"Yes," says somebody, "me and Ab Turner done it. We're both here."

Then the old man turns toward the king, and says:

"Peraps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?"

Blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd 'a'
squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took
him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to
make most _anybody_ sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that
without any notice, because how was _he_ going to know what was
tattooed on the man? He whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and
it was mighty still in there, and everybody bending a little forwards
and gazing at him. Says I to myself, _Now_ he'll throw up the
sponge--there ain't no more use. Well, did he? A body can't hardly
believe it, but he didn't. I reckon he thought he'd keep the thing up
till he tired them people out, so they'd thin out, and him and the
duke could break loose and get away. Anyway, he set there, and pretty
soon he begun to smile, and says:

"Mf! It's a _very_ tough qu