“Well, perhaps,” said Sam, “you bought houses, wich is delicate English for goin’ mad; or took to buildin’, wich is a medical term for bein’ incurable.”

The cobbler shook his head and said, “Try again.”

“You didn’t go to law, I hope?” said Sam suspiciously.

“Never in my life,” replied the cobbler. “The fact is, I was ruined by having money left me.”

“Come, come,” said Sam, “that von’t do. I wish some rich enemy ’ud try to vork my destruction in that ’ere vay. I’d let him.”

“Oh, I dare say you don’t believe it,” said the cobbler, quietly smoking his pipe. “I wouldn’t if I was you; but it’s true for all that.”

“How wos it?” inquired Sam, half induced to believe the fact already, by the look the cobbler gave him.