"Ho'd 'ire our 'orses, Runciman?" suggested Harry Stubbings with a
laugh.
"Think what England would be!" said the Captain. "When I hear of a
country gentleman sticking to books and all that, I feel that the
glory is departing from the land. Where are the sinews of war to
come from? That's what I want to know."
"Who will it be, Mr. Masters, if the gent don't get it?" asked
Ribbs from his corner on the sofa. This was felt to be a pushing
question. "How am I to know, Mr. Ribbs?" said the Attorney. "I
didn't make the late squire's will; and if I did you don't suppose
I should tell you."
"I'm told that the next is Peter Morton," said Fred Botsey. "He's
something in a public office up in London."
"It won't go to him," said Fred's brother. "That old lady has
relations of her own who have had their mouths open for the last
forty years"
"Away from the Mortons altogether!" said Harry. "That would be an
awful shame!"
"I don't see what good the Mortons have done this last half
century," said the Captain.
"You don't remember the old squire, Captain," said the innkeeper,
"and I don't remember him well. Indeed I was only a little chap
when they buried him. But there's that feeling left behind him to
this day, that not a poor man in the country wouldn't be sorry to
think that there wasn't a Morton left among 'em.
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