outcast--and as soon as he produced it he had lost the tontine!
There was no hesitation on the part of Morris; to drop the

tontine like a hot chestnut, to concentrate all his forces on the
leather business and the rest of his small but legitimate

inheritance, was the decision of a single instant. And the next,
the full extent of his calamity was suddenly disclosed to him.

Declare his uncle's death? He couldn't! Since the body was lost
Joseph had (in a legal sense) become immortal.

There was no created vehicle big enough to contain Morris and his
woes. He paid the hansom off and walked on he knew not whither.

'I seem to have gone into this business with too much
precipitation,' he reflected, with a deadly sigh. 'I fear it

seems too ramified for a person of my powers of mind.'
And then a remark of his uncle's flashed into his memory: If you

want to think clearly, put it all down on paper. 'Well, the old
boy knew a thing or two,' said Morris. 'I will try; but I don't

believe the paper was ever made that will clear my mind.'
He entered a place of public entertainment, ordered bread and

cheese, and writing materials, and sat down before them heavily.
He tried the pen. It was an excellent pen, but what was he to

write? 'I have it,' cried Morris. 'Robinson Crusoe and the double
columns!' He prepared his paper after that classic model, and

began as follows:
Bad. Good.

1. 1 have lost my uncle's body. 1. But then Pitman has found it.
'Stop a bit,' said Morris. 'I am letting the spirit of antithesis

run away with me. Let's start again.'
Bad. Good.

1. I have lost my uncle's body.
1. But then I no longer require to bury it.

2. I have lost the tontine.
2.But I may still save that if Pitman disposes of the body, and

if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.
3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's

succession.
3. But not if Pitman gives the body up to the police.

'O, but in that case I go to gaol; I had forgot that,' thought
Morris. 'Indeed, I don't know that I had better dwell on that

hypothesis at all; it's all very well to talk of facing the
worst; but in a case of this kind a man's first duty is to his

own nerve. Is there any answer to No. 3? Is there any possible
good side to such a beastly bungle? There must be, of course, or

where would be the use of this double-entry business? And--by
George, I have it!' he exclaimed; 'it's exactly the same as the

last!' And he hastily re-wrote the passage:
Bad. Good.

3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's
succession.

3. But not if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.
'This venal doctor seems quite a desideratum,' he reflected. 'I

want him first to give me a certificate that my uncle is dead, so
that I may get the leather business; and then that he's

alive--but here we are again at the incompatible interests!' And
he returned to his tabulation:

Bad. Good.
4. I have almost no money. 4. But there is plenty in the bank.

5. Yes, but I can't get the money in the bank.
5. But--well, that seems unhappily to be the case.

6. I have left the bill for eight hundred pounds in Uncle
Joseph's pocket.

6. But if Pitman is only a dishonest man, the presence of this
bill may lead him to keep the whole thing dark and throw the body

into the New Cut.
7. Yes, but if Pitman is dishonest and finds the bill, he will

know who Joseph is, and he may blackmail me.
7. Yes, but if I am right about Uncle Masterman, I can blackmail

Michael.
8. But I can't blackmail Michael (which is, besides, a very

dangerous thing to do) until I find out.
8. Worse luck!

9. The leather business will soon want money for current
expenses, and I have none to give.

9. But the leather business is a sinking ship.
10. Yes, but it's all the ship I have.

10. A fact.
11. John will soon want money, and I have none to give.

11.
12. And the venal doctor will want money down.

12.
13. And if Pitman is dishonest and don't send me to gaol, he will

want a fortune.
13.

'O, this seems to be a very one-sided business,' exclaimed
Morris. 'There's not so much in this method as I was led to

think.' He crumpled the paper up and threw it down; and then, the
next moment, picked it up again and ran it over. 'It seems it's

on the financial point that my position is weakest,' he
reflected. 'Is there positively no way of raising the wind? In a

vast city like this, and surrounded by all the resources of
civilization, it seems not to be conceived! Let us have no more

precipitation. Is there nothing I can sell? My collection of
signet--' But at the thought of scattering these loved treasures

the blood leaped into Morris's check. 'I would rather die!' he
exclaimed, and, cramming his hat upon his head, strode forth into

the streets.
'I MUST raise funds,' he thought. 'My uncle being dead, the money

in the bank is mine, or would be mine but for the cursed
injustice that has pursued me ever since I was an orphan in a

commercial academy. I know what any other man would do; any other
man in Christendom would forge; although I don't know why I call

it forging, either, when Joseph's dead, and the funds are my own.
When I think of that, when I think that my uncle is really as

dead as mutton, and that I can't prove it, my gorge rises at the
injustice of the whole affair. I used to feel bitterly about that

seven thousand eight hundred pounds; it seems a trifle now! Dear
me, why, the day before yesterday I was comparatively happy.'

And Morris stood on the sidewalk and heaved another sobbing sigh.
'Then there's another thing,' he resumed; 'can I? Am I able? Why

didn't I practise different handwritings while I was young? How a
fellow regrets those lost opportunities when he grows up! But

there's one comfort: it's not morally wrong; I can try it on with
a clear conscience, and even if I was found out, I wouldn't

greatly care--morally, I mean. And then, if I succeed, and if
Pitman is staunch, there's nothing to do but find a venal doctor;

and that ought to be simple enough in a place like London. By all
accounts the town's alive with them. It wouldn't do, of course,

to advertise for a corruptphysician; that would be impolitic.
No, I suppose a fellow has simply to spot along the streets for a

red lamp and herbs in the window, and then you go in
and--and--and put it to him plainly; though it seems a delicate

step.'
He was near home now, after many devious wanderings, and turned

up John Street. As he thrust his latchkey in the lock, another
mortifying reflection struck him to the heart.

'Not even this house is mine till I can prove him dead,' he
snarled, and slammed the door behind him so that the windows in

the attic rattled.
Night had long fallen; long ago the lamps and the shop-fronts had

begun to glitter down the endless streets; the lobby was