For Fortune and Glory | Page 8

straight on, as Mr Burrows did.
"I revoke my former will. I now leave to two trustees as much money
as will yield 240 pounds a year to be paid monthly to Stephen Philipson,
the son of my late wife by a former husband. My land to be sold, and
that, with the rest of my property, to be equally divided between my
sister, Mary Forsyth, or her heirs, and Reginald Kavanagh."
"Not long, certainly, as you have put it," said Mr Burrows, with a smile.
"But here is land to be sold, and other descriptions of property to be
entered correctly. Can you not give us till the day after to- morrow? If
not, I will send the will to you, and you can sign it, and get it witnessed
at home."
"No, no; I had sooner remain in Dublin, and get the thing off my mind
at once. The day after to-morrow, then, at this time."
"It will be all ready by then."
As he passed through the outer office, the head clerk came from his
desk, smiling and bowing obsequiously. He was a young man of dark
complexion, and black hair, worn rather long.

"Ah, Daireh, how do you do?" said Mr Burke with a nod, but not
offering to shake hands, as the other evidently expected.
Daireh was an Egyptian protege of Mr Forsyth, who had employed him
as a boy-clerk, brought him to England with him, and placed him in a
lawyer's office. He was clever, sharp, and a most useful servant; and,
entering the employ of Messrs Burrows and Fagan, had ingratiated
himself with both of them, so that he was trusted to an extraordinary
degree. He professed great gratitude to Mr Burke, as the brother-in-law
of his benefactor, and as having spoken for him when he was seeking
his present engagement. But Mr Burke did not like the look of him. He
was prejudiced, however, against all foreigners, especially Greeks and
Egyptians, so that his dislike did not go for much. But certainly an
acute physiognomist would have said that Daireh looked sly.
Mr Burke had friends to call on, and business to transact, so the delay
did not really matter to him; and he called at the lawyer's office again at
the appointed time, Daireh, bowing obsequiously as usual, ushering
him into Mr Burrows' private room.
"Well, we have put your good English into what you profanely call
legal jargon," said that gentleman.
"Just listen, and try to understand your own directions while I read
them over."
It was all plain enough, and short enough, in spite of Mr Burrows' little
joke, and then Mr Burke put his mouth to a speaking-tube, and called
Daireh to come and witness the document. Then there was some
signing, and the new will was consigned to the tin box bearing the
name of Richard Burke, Esquire, upon it.
"Better destroy the old one," said he.
"Certainly," replied Mr Burrows. "Throw it behind the fire, Daireh."
Then Daireh did a curious thing. He took another parchment, exactly
like the old will, out of his breast coat pocket, and managed,

unperceived, to exchange it for the document; so that the object which
Mr Burke and the lawyer watched curling, blazing, sputtering, till it
was consumed, was not the old will at all, but a spoilt skin of some
other matter, and the old will was lying snugly in Daireh's pocket.
What motive could he have? What earthly use could this old will be,
when one of more recent date lay in that tin box? Daireh could not have
answered the question. He kept it on the off-chance of being able to
make something out of it. He was a thorough rogue, though not found
out yet, and he knew that Stephen Philipson, who had just been
disinherited, was both rogue and fool.
So he carried off the now valueless document, which would not eat or
drink, he reckoned, and might be put to some purpose some day.
Mr Burke returned home and wrote to his sister, and to Stephen
Philipson, telling them what he had done. He did not write about it to
Reginald Kavanagh, not thinking it necessary to take from him any
inducement to exert himself, for though he was a good-enough lad in
most respects, he certainly was not studious. He was also accused by
his schoolfellows of what they called "putting on a good deal of
swagger," a weakness not likely to be improved by the knowledge of
his godfather's kind intentions towards him.
So that altogether Mr Richard Burke was, perhaps, judicious.
CHAPTER THREE.
FROM GAY TO GRAVE.
Tea was a comfortable meal at Harton in the winter half of the year,
when the boys had fires in their rooms, at least, for social