"What am I to do with his bits of things, mister, if he doesn't come
back?" she asked.
"Aught you please," answered Pratt, indifferently. "Throw 'em on the
dust-heap."
As he went back to the centre of the town, he occupied himself in
considering his attitude to Mrs. Mallathorpe when she called on him that
evening. In spite of his own previous notion, and of his
carefully-worked-out scheme about the stewardship, he had been impressed
by what Parrawhite has said as to the wisdom of selling the will for
cash. Pratt did not believe that there was anything in the Collingwood
suggestion--no doubt whatever, he had decided, that old Bartle had meant
to tell Mrs. Mallathorpe of his discovery when she called in answer to
his note, but as he had died before she could call, and as he had told
nobody but him, Pratt, what possible danger could there be from
Collingwood? And a stewardship for life appealed to him. He knew, from
observation of the world, what a fine thing it is to have a certainty.
Once he became steward and agent of the Normandale Grange estate, he
would stick there, until he had saved a tidy heap of money. Then he
would retire--with a pension and a handsome present--and enjoy himself.
To be provided for, for life!--what more could a wise man want? And
yet--there was something in what that devil Parrawhite had urged.
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