“But he hadn’t,” said Eugene, drawing a lady’s head upon his writing-paper, and touching it at intervals, “the opportunity then of earning so much money, you see.”
“The t’other Governor hits the nail, Lawyer Lightwood! It was that as turned me. I had many times and again struggled to relieve myself of the trouble on my mind, but I couldn’t get it off. I had once very nigh got it off to Miss Abbey Potterson which keeps the Six Jolly Fellowships—there is the ’ouse, it won’t run away—there lives the lady, she ain’t likely to be struck dead afore you get there—ask her!—but I couldn’t do it. At last, out comes the new bill with your own lawful name, Lawyer Lightwood, printed to it, and then I asks the question of my own intellects, Am I to have this trouble on my mind forever? Am I never to throw it off? Am I always to think more of Gaffer than of my own self? If he’s got a daughter, ain’t I got a daughter?”
“And echo answered—?” Eugene suggested.
“ ‘You have,’ ” said Mr. Riderhood, in a firm tone.
“Incidentally mentioning, at the same time, her age?” inquired Eugene.
“Yes, governor. Two-and-twenty last October. And then I put it to myself, ‘Regarding the money. It is a pot of money.’ For it is a pot,” said Mr. Riderhood, with candour, “and why deny it?”
“Hear!” from Eugene as he touched his drawing.
“ ‘It is a pot of money; but is it a sin for a labouring man that moistens every crust of bread he earns, with his tears—or if not with them, with the colds he catches in his head—is it a sin for that man to earn it? Say there is anything again earning it.’ This I put to myself strong, as in duty bound; ‘how can it be said without blaming Lawyer