“My dear friends,” whines Grandfather Smallweed, putting out both his hands, “I owe you a thousand thanks for discharging the melancholy office of discovering the ashes of Mrs. Smallweed’s brother.”
“Eh?” says Mr. Guppy.
“ Mrs. Smallweed’s brother, my dear friend—her only relation. We were not on terms, which is to be deplored now, but he never would be on terms. He was not fond of us. He was eccentric—he was very eccentric. Unless he has left a will (which is not at all likely) I shall take out letters of administration. I have come down to look after the property; it must be sealed up, it must be protected. I have come down,” repeats Grandfather Smallweed, hooking the air towards him with all his ten fingers at once, “to look after the property.”
“I think, Small,” says the disconsolate Mr. Guppy, “you might have mentioned that the old man was your uncle.”
“You two were so close about him that I thought you would like me to be the same,” returns that old bird with a secretly glistening eye. “Besides, I wasn’t proud of him.”
“Besides which, it was nothing to you, you know, whether he was or not,” says Judy. Also with a secretly glistening eye.
“He never saw me in his life to know me,” observed Small; “I don’t know why I should introduce him , I am sure!”
“No, he never communicated with us, which is to be deplored,” the old gentleman strikes in, “but I have come to look after the property—to look over the papers, and to look after the property. We shall make good our title. It is in the hands of my solicitor. Mr. Tulkinghorn, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, over the way there, is so good as to act as my solicitor; and grass don’t grow under his feet, I can tell ye. Krook was Mrs. Smallweed’s