He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Sir John saw it, and was flattered. He slapped his knee. He begged their attention for the next turn. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. ‘The general himself?’ ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’ ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. ” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr.
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