defrauded; the world owed him seven thousand eight hundred pounds, and

he intended that the world should pay.

But it was in his dealings with Joseph that Morris's character

particularly shone. His uncle was a rather gambling stock in which he

had invested heavily; and he spared no pains in nursing the security.

The old man was seen monthly by a physician, whether he was well or ill.

His diet, his raiment, his occasional outings, now to Brighton, now to

Bournemouth, were doled out to him like pap to infants. In bad weather

he must keep the house. In good weather, by half-past nine, he must

be ready in the hall; Morris would see that he had gloves and that his

shoes were sound; and the pair would start for the leather business

arm in arm. The way there was probably dreary enough, for there was no

pretence of friendly feeling; Morris had never ceased to upbraid

his guardian with his defalcation and to lament the burthen of Miss

Hazeltine; and Joseph, though he was a mild enough soul, regarded his

nephew with something very near akin to hatred. But the way there

was nothing to the journey back; for the mere sight of the place of

business, as well as every detail of its transactions, was enough to

poison life for any Finsbury.

Joseph's name was still over the door; it was he who still signed the

cheques; but this was only policy on the part of Morris, and designed

to discourage other members of the tontine. In reality the business was

entirely his; and he found it an inheritance of sorrows. He tried to

sell it, and the offers he received were quite derisory. He tried to

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