It was the most awkwardly thrilling moment of George's life, when he found himself confronted by the millionaire before the eyes of the Elder Inhabitants. Because of the couple of ridiculous bundles he could not grasp the hand of Mr. Jenkins; he dared not explain he was carrying the porcelain about with him; so he muttered something about grand weather and unexpected pleasure, then raced homewards with the American ambling at his side.

"Crampy flung me a line telling me about your masterpieces. I beat the sun this morning in an aeroplane invented by a friend; came to turf on Salisbury plain; friend and driver broke rudder and ankle; caught a horse, rode him barebacked to the nearest garage; bought a car, drove it fifty miles; car broke down, sold it second-hand, hired a train, drove here from the station – all so to speak. If I'm not first, I guess I'm a derned good second."

"You needn't have hurried quite so much," gasped George, wishing he could exaggerate like that.

"I guess, sir, when it comes to business, a man has got to put in his best licks, or some other fellow will pull his foot ahead and spudgel up the goods. Cramp has unloosed his jaw-tackle to the crowd. I'm not particular scared of the Britishers, who look before they leap, and think before they look, and make their wills before they think; but there's quite a few Americans in your London, England, nosing around for something specially ancient to take home. There's Wenceslas Q. Alloway of Milwaukee. Lager-beer he is, or was, for now he's mostly grape juice for conscience' sake; with an elegant white beard and the innocent ways of an archangel – he's got this collecting craze so bad he'd mortgage his immortality, or a thousand years of it, for a bit of old china, though he'd try to stick in a clause to best the devil, for he's a pretty derned orthodox First Baptist on a Sunday. I'm a Second Adventist, and my crowd has just built a church in Philadelphia which for size and shape makes your Westminster Abbey look a bit retrospective."

"Come inside," said George faintly. "I'm afraid I can't offer you much hospitality, as I'm only staying here with my aunt who is not able to receive visitors."

"Don't mention hospitality, sir. Just give me a sight of your vases, and if they're genuine, you'll be giving me a gorge. Wonderful pretty place. I'd like to ship the whole of this township across to America, put up a barbwire fence around, and charge a dollar for admission. Beautiful place to be buried in! Might I inquire if you are carrying anything specially out of date?"

"I've been shopping," replied George.

"Mr. Drake!" called the voice of the postmistress. "A telegram vor ye, sir."

George tore open the envelope and read, "Just heard from Crampy. Fifteen hundred if O.K. Alloway."

"Knew he'd switch on to the main track up to time, but he can't begin to best me. Guess he's exceeding your speed limit right now, and about midnight his automobile will be killing ducks in this neighbourhood," said Jenkins complacently.

"I suppose you know something about china?" George suggested, as he ushered the visitor into the dining room.

"My knowledge of porcelain extends from my head to my finger ends. When you show me Chinese vases I'm at home, sir, I'm surrounded with familiar objects, I'm behind the scenes. Crampy knows something, but I can run a saw upon him. When his wells dry up, that's the time, sir, mine begin to flow," said Jenkins, ostentatiously producing a long cheque-book and slapping it upon the table.

"If you will excuse me a moment, I'll go for the vases," said George.

He carried the bundles up to his room, and consulted the list which Crampy had sent him. Having satisfied himself that the names of Jenkins and Alloway appeared upon it, he went downstairs with the undraped vases, thankful his visitor had called at the time of day when Miss Yard and Nellie were shut up together, and Kezia was occupied in the kitchen.

The millionaire stood in the attitude of a clergyman about to receive a child for baptism; and, when George extended one of the vases, he accepted it reverently, then walked to the window, examined it, tapped and stroked it, hugged and adored it, and very nearly kissed it, before turning to exclaim, "These are the goods, Mr. Drake!"

"Yes, they are very fine specimens," replied George casually.

"I don't say they are unique at present, though that's what they will be when I get 'em across to Philadelphia. I guess there's been an empty mantelpiece in the Emperor of China's palace for quite a few years."

George explained the vases had been discovered by his uncle during one of the anti-foreign riots in China many years ago.

"Your uncle was a great lad, sir. He saw his chance to loot the pieces, so he repelled boarders and took 'em. I should call your uncle a public benefactor. He removed these vases from the custody of the uncivilised Chinee, and conferred them upon the cultured world of art. When the potter turned them on his wheel," continued Jenkins, beginning to rhapsodise, "he little thought they were destined, by a far-seeing Providence, to find a home in the United States, the illustrious city of Philadelphia, the unassuming if somewhat palatial mansion – "

"The postmistress again!" exclaimed George, hurrying to the front door.

"I hadn't hardly got back home, sir, when there come another. I do hope, sir, it ain't bad news again," said the good woman, as she handed over a second telegram.

"It's of no consequence," said George.

"I'm very glad it ain't no worse, sir. I hope, sir, you'm going on well," said Mrs. Cann, trusting that an interpretation of these telegrams might be vouchsafed to her.

George cautiously replied that his lumbago was improving daily; then he returned to the dining room and said, "Here's a telegram from an American named Anderson. He asks me not to deal with any one until he calls, and he offers seventeen hundred."

"I don't know the fellow," said Jenkins suspiciously. "I would advise you to have nothing to do with him. He may be a crook, a man of straw."

"He's all right," said George. "Crampy sent me a list of collectors I could trust, and his name is on it. I suppose Crampy himself is safe, as a firm of lawyers, who are supposed to be respectable, sent him down here."

"Crampy is as genuine as the rising sun. He's valuer to your Court of Probate, he's got a fixed place of business, his name's in the Directory. He's just got to tote fair, but he won't get rich till he grows more brain. I've known Crampy to pay down big money for a fake."

"He made me an offer for these vases," said George.

"I'll double it," cried the millionaire, nestling down to his cheque-book.

"He offered me a thousand pounds."

"Then I'll give you two thousand."

"I might get even more at a sale," George muttered greedily.

"I guess you don't know a great lot about sales," said Jenkins pityingly. "If you put these vases up to auction, collectors and dealers would get together and fix the price beforehand. I'm playing my lone hand in this game, for I'm dead set on getting the ornaments, and I don't mind paying a fancy price for 'em. Crampy won't go beyond a thousand, and even Alloway reckons he's sure of them for fifteen hundred. The other chap offers seventeen hundred it's true, but I have my doubts about him. I didn't mean to bid two thousand, but I've promised to double Crampy's offer, and I'm a man of my word or I'm nothing. Now, sir – you to play!"

"I'll take it," said George.

"Easy way of making money, ain't it?" said the American jauntily. "If you wouldn't mind wrapping some cotton-wool and paper round the things, I'll take 'em right along with me."

"Are you going to offer me a cheque?" George stammered.

"I was going to, but as you don't know a great lot about me, and perhaps you don't feel like relying on Crampy's introduction, and as I must take the pieces right away with me, I'll just hand over the stuff in notes upon your Bank of England which, so far as I know, hasn't put its shutters up," said the millionaire, producing a mighty pocketbook. "Here you are, sir – four five-hundreds, and may they breed you a bonanza. Kindly hand me a form of receipt; and if at any time within the next forty-eight hours the vases should be discovered forgeries, I am at liberty to return them, while you will hand back the money. At the expiration of the forty-eight hours the deal is closed absolutely and, if the things are fakes, I come out spindigo. Don't be ashamed of your suspicions, and don't consider my feelings. Hold up the notes to the light and take a look at the watermark."

"That's just what I was doing," said George feebly.

A few minutes later the millionaire departed, George walking with him to the inn where his conveyance waited. Here also wise men were discussing the state of decadence towards which the parish was being hurried by moral failures like the Brocks and such a despicable plotter as the formerly respected Mr. Drake, who was undoubtedly scheming to construct that Dartmoor railway by means of American dollars. Mr. Jenkins was seen to drive away by the Gentle Shepherd, who reported the gratifying intelligence to headquarters, and a hearty sigh of relief went up while a quantity of inferior beer went down. Yet nobody sighed so deeply or so joyously as George as he hurried home a man of means at last.

Rapture lost half its charm because there was nobody with whom it could be shared; for Nellie, he found, had retired with a headache, while Bessie, upon sentry duty near the bedroom door, repelled the advance of Miss Yard who was in tears because they would not let her in to see the poor girl's body.

"I knew she would go like that. I told her she had a heart, because she was such a good girl, and they always go suddenly. I do hope you won't be the next, George. Of course you know poor Percy is gone," she wailed.

"You were very good in your young days," said George gallantly, "but you are still alive. There's nothing much the matter with Percy, except that he's going to get married."

"Take that woman away," snapped Miss Yard, "and make her stop growing. She gets worse every day."

"I finished long ago, thankye, miss," said Bessie.

"What a wicked story! She's done a lot since yesterday," complained Miss Yard. "Do let me have one peep at my dear little Nellie before they take her away."

The young lady herself cried out and hoped they would all be taken away. Peace was restored, after Miss Yard had tumbled down happily, convinced that the age of miracles was not past.

George woke the next morning with a sense of prosperity which required a safety valve when the inevitable letter from Mr. Hunter, who had now shrunk icily into a solitary initial beneath the signature Cross and Martin, announced, "the probate of your late aunt's will has been granted, and you are now at liberty to draw cheques against the balance of two hundred pounds lying in the bank."

George felt sufficiently healthy to dig potatoes, make love, or perform any other menial act. He ate a huge breakfast, then climbed into an apple tree and whistled for half an hour: Miss Yard, sitting at the window, declared she had never heard the blackbirds sing so beautifully. While thus relieving his high spirits a light carriage could be heard approaching; its wheels rattled down the hill; the driver shouted to the horse; and the conveyance drew up beside the garden gate.

"Here's another millionaire!" George chuckled, as he dropped from the branches. But there was nobody except the driver, whom George recognised as belonging to the principal hotel of the neighbouring town.

"I was to give you this letter, sir, and to bring you this box, and to wait for an answer," said the man.

"Did a gentleman called Jenkins send you?" George faltered, receiving the box with the dignity of an author taking back his rejected masterpiece.

"That's right, sir. I was to get back as quick as I can, for the gentleman wants to catch a train. Here's the letter, sir; and I was to be sure and take back an answer."

George hurried indoors, his knees wobbling; tore open the envelope and read:

"It's worse than a falling birth rate, but the vases are fakes. I have examined them carefully with strong glasses and discovered marks which show beyond a doubt they are not more than a hundred years old. These pieces would deceive any amateur and quite a few experts: they fairly hocussed me till I turned on the glasses. This will make your soul sick, I guess, but you've still got Crampy. I won't say anything to queer your business; but take my advice and don't hawk the things about, or some other fellow may get notions. Your best chance is Crampy, right now, while he's innocent. The longer you keep the vases the more they'll smell. Kindly return shinplasters by bearer, and pile up my sympathy to your credit."

George sprang to the box and wrenched off its lid; but a glance dispelled his suspicions. The vases had not been exchanged for local beauties; they had been returned undamaged but condemned. Crampy was honest, and Jenkins was genuine; and he himself had lost a fortune.

"I don't want to gammon a decent fellow like Crampy, but I can't afford to lose a thousand pounds," George muttered, after the driver had departed with the banknotes. "I'll walk over to Brimmleton and send him a telegram. If it goes from here Mrs. Cann will talk all over the village. And on the way back I'll look in at Black Anchor, and try to find out what young Sidney is up to."

Before starting he told Nellie of his intentions, which were still honourable; but the young lady was indifferent to the point of malice.

"They are nothing to me, and the sooner they clear out of the place the better," she said firmly.

"I'm going to give the lad a little friendly advice. The people are complaining that he's making Highfield more like London every day; and naturally they are getting angry about it," said George.

"Oh, don't talk to me about it," cried Nellie.

"Shall I talk to you when I come back?"

"That will depend upon what you have to say."

"It can't possibly be good news," said George cheerfully. "I knew Sidney was a bad egg the first time I saw him. He never took his eyes off my boots, and that's a sure sign of a nasty character."

So George walked to Brimmleton, where he was a foreigner, and despatched the telegram to Crampy, accepting his offer for the vases and pressing for a reply immediately, as he was very much afraid Jenkins might leak a little upon his return to London. Then he turned aside to the lonely farm, where half-savage children no longer rolled in the mud, noting with approval the effect of hard labour in the shape of reclaimed land and well drained fields. The Brocks, if vicious, were at least not idle; and George was always well pleased at discovering signs of human industry which convinced him that the race was by no means decadent.

Nearing the house he walked warily; and here a shocking spectacle was presented. He saw a young girl – the same infamous young person – most daintily attired, seated upon a boulder near the door, wearing over her pretty frock a deplorable type of beribboned and belaced apron, perusing a volume with a lurid binding which assuredly was teaching her terrible things. And he saw the old man – the grandfather – approach with a mattock on his shoulder; and he pulled her hair; while she shouted at him – some nameless jest, doubtless, but happily George could not hear the words.

Presently Sidney appeared – for it was nearly dinner time – and the worst happened. The abandoned young creature jumped up and ran towards him, with an expression, described mentally by George as one of ready-made affection, upon her pretty face; and, as they walked into the house, the wicked young man passed his arm around the waist of the shameless damsel.

The watcher groaned in spirit, although he could not altogether escape from the idea that the ungodly were not necessarily to be pitied in this world. Then he walked to the house and knocked at the door. The scuffling sound of young women in flight caused him to shake his head again.

"So 'tis you, Mr. Drake! You'm quite a stranger," exclaimed Sidney readily enough, though in George's opinion his face wore a hunted look.

"I'd like to have a few words with you," he replied.

"Right," said Sidney, looking back into the house to call, "Tell Dolly not to hurry wi' the dinner, grandfather."

"Dolly!" groaned George, somewhat enviously. He had clung to the hope that the girl's name might turn out to be Jane.

"You know, Sidney, I don't bear you any ill-feeling," he began, when they stood a few paces from the house, although his eyes were stricken with horror at discovering the young woman had been reading a book printed in French. "But there's some very loud talk up in Highfield about you and your goings on with the ladies."

"We have nought to do wi' Highfield volk, and we don't care that much vor their talk," replied Sidney, snapping his fingers.

"They are threatening to mob you," George whispered.

"Not they," laughed Sidney. "They ain't got it in 'em, and if a crowd did come down along me and grandfather would settle the lot."

"It's pretty bad to have young women here – from France too – one after the other. You can't blame the people for being a bit upset."

"If that's all you've got to say, Mr. Drake, I'll thank ye kindly, and tell ye I don't want to hear no more of it. Dolly is staying vor a week or two, and when she goes I'll get another," said the young outcast fiercely.

"I thought I'd just look in and warn you as I was passing," said George. "You know, Sidney, I don't blame you, and I think you're quite right not to give way to them. If I can help you in any way I shall be only too glad. These ignorant people don't understand men of the world like you and me."

"I reckon," said Sidney, with the deplorable grin of a completely dissipated soul.

"I mustn't keep you from your dinner, Sidney – and from the ladies. Give my best wishes to your grandfather, and my respects to Miss Dolly. I do hope she is enjoying her visit," said the double-faced George. Then he ambled off, trying to smile and frown with the same face, entirely satisfied that Sidney would never again be permitted to approach within speaking distance of Miss Blisland.

He was unable to report the result of this visit, beyond mentioning he had discovered things too terrible for words; and, although Nellie did appear for one moment inclined to listen, George could do nothing except place a hand across his eyes and declare he could not face her after the scenes of sheer depravity he had been compelled to witness at Black Anchor. Nellie was well aware George would exaggerate if he could; but this did really appear to be a case where exaggeration was impossible.

"You do get a lot of these nasty things, Mr. George," remarked Kezia, as she approached with a telegram which suggested to her nothing except murder and sudden death.

"In this case I shall attend the funeral," said George cheerfully, when he discovered the deluded Crampy would meet him at the station upon the following day.

"Who's gone now?" asked Kezia.

"Next week I am going into business," explained George with suitable emotion. "This telegram is from a friend who wants to go into partnership with me."

"I hope he ain't coming here then," said Kezia, who was beginning to resent the visits of strange gentlemen, because they walked upon her carpets and sat upon her chairs. "What be you going to sell, Mr. George?" she asked with much interest.

"China," he replied.

"I do hope and pray as how you may succeed," gasped Kezia; and off she went to inform Bessie that Mr. George was about to start a cloam shop. Bessie quite believed it, as Mr. George had always been so fond of handling cups and saucers.

Miss Yard also was fond of tea drinking, but she had no tenderness for china, and would generally release her cup in a vacuum, instead of placing it fairly upon the table; and express a vast amount of amusement at the ridiculous laws of nature when the cup exploded upon the carpet. She was particularly robust that afternoon and insisted upon pouring out tea herself. When the fragments, which filled two small baskets, had been removed, the steaming carpet mopped, and dryness restored, George seated himself beside the old lady, produced a sheet of foolscap covered with writing, and said in his most silvery voice:

"Circumstances, my dear aunt, will compel me to leave you during the course of the next few days: but I cannot go until I have the satisfaction of knowing you have made a will in our dear Nellie's favour."

"Good heavens – in my presence, too!" gasped the young lady.

"I need not remind you of the goodness, the modesty, the unselfishness of our Nellie," he continued. "She would serve you for nothing, but nevertheless it is your duty to leave her all you can."

"I can't stay and listen to this," cried the distressed beneficiary.

"Don't interfere. She has always meant to do it, but never will unless we jog her memory," George whispered.

"I'll have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Nellie; and out she went with a fine colour.

"Is this something to do with that nasty robbery they call income tax?" asked Miss Yard.

"This is your last will and testament," replied George solemnly. "I know you mean to leave everything to Nellie, but you can't do that unless you sign a will. You must die soon, you know; and, if it was to happen suddenly, Nellie would get nothing."

"I did write out a paper, but somebody has hidden it away somewhere," said the old lady.

"Pieces of paper are very little good," said George. "This is a properly drawn up will. When you have signed it I can go away quite happy, and I shall know dear Nellie will be provided for."

"Will she have the house, and the furniture, and all my money?" asked Miss Yard eagerly.

"Percy gets your money, but Nellie will have all that you may leave in the bank, any investments you may make, and the proportion of income up to the time of your death," said George learnedly.

"Must I write my name somewhere?"

"Yes, and two witnesses are required; but Nellie can't be one," said George, going to the window and gazing along the street for some honest person who could also write.

Presently the Wallower in Wealth appeared, prospecting the gutter for any signs of gold dust.

"I know he can write, for he signed a petition to uncle in favour of more frequent offertories in aid of the poor and needy," George muttered. Then he caught up the will, lest Miss Yard should scribble her name all over it during his absence, ran out into the street, and invited the scribe to step inside and witness Miss Yard's signature.

"I'll do it on one condition," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"What's that?" said George.

"You sell me the musical box. I'll give ye ten shillings vor it."

"That musical box is worth fifty pounds," said George. "But I can't sell it."

"Ain't it yours?"

"It has been out of order since my uncle died."

"You get it put right, and let me have it vor fifteen shillings, and I'll sign."

"Miss Yard wants you to witness her signature. You won't be doing anything for me."

"You'm asking me."

"Miss Yard isn't feeling very well today, and she's in a hurry to get her affairs settled."

"I b'ain't preventing her," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"She can't do it without witnesses."

"I might spare a pound vor the musical box."

"You couldn't get it repaired. That musical box is a lost art."

"If I take it wi' all its faults, and Miss Yard gives me five shillings vor my time and labour, will ye sell me the box vor one pound two and sixpence?"

"I can't stay here talking. If you won't come I must get somebody else," said George impatiently.

"Other folk would want to be paid the same as me," said the Wallower in Wealth.

"Then I shall go and ask the vicar."

This was a fatal blow, and the bargainer climbed down at once.

"I'll stand witness vor half a crown and first refusal of the musical box," he promised.

Miss Yard was unusually silent after signing her will, and paying a fee to both her witnesses. She lay back in her chair with dreamy old eyes which looked as if they were recalling many scenes. While George carried the precious document upstairs to Nellie.

"Put it away and keep it safe until she dies," he said.

"I want to say the right thing," she murmured. "You ought not to have made her sign, although she often says it is her intention to leave me something."

"You won't forget that I might have acted in a most scandalous fashion," George hinted.

"Yes, I know!" she said hurriedly. "You could have put your name in place of mine, and she would have signed just as willingly. But it's a horrible business."

"All business is horrible. That is why we hire people to do it for us. I was thinking of myself as well," said George heartily. "We are getting along very nicely, Nellie – no just cause or impediment, you know! This should mean one of those nice little sums of good money known as capital," he whispered, rubbing his hands.

"I must go to Miss Sophy," said Nellie; and she moved towards the stairs like one in trouble.

The next day George carried his vases tenderly to the station where, at the appointed time, Crampy arrived, and at once inquired:

"Has Jenkins been down?"

"He came," replied George, prepared for some such question, "but we couldn't do business."

"All cackle, I suppose? That's his way. He'll come into my place to bargain for a piece of Sèvres; swear he must have it, talk me dizzy; then say he must cross the Atlantic and think about it."

"He seemed very anxious to buy the vases, but he couldn't quite make up his mind. I didn't exactly trust the fellow," said George. Then he went on to describe the millionaire's adventures with aeroplane and motor car between London and Highfield.

"That was just his ornamental way of telling you he's a hustler. He travelled by railway, and third class all the way. Jenkins is an awful liar; but he's honest. I want to catch the up train, due in about twenty minutes, so we had better get to business. If you are ready to hand over the pieces, I am prepared to give you my cheque for a thousand marked accepted by the bank."

"Jenkins said they were really worth more than that."

"Though he wouldn't give it," laughed Crampy. "I'll just take another look at 'em to make sure."

"It doesn't matter," George protested.

However, Crampy insisted in a courteous fashion: so they walked to the far end of the platform, where George unpacked one of the vases, and the dealer, having put on his glasses, examined it shrewdly until the owner began to suffer from the silence.

"Do you know, Mr. Drake, I'm not sure – upon my soul I can't say for certain whether the things are genuine or not."

"Don't tell me they are forgeries," said George weakly.

"They are marvellously well done. Still, I've got a horrible idea in my head there is something wrong with them."

"Jenkins told you?" cried George involuntarily.

"So he said they were fakes!"

"He didn't go as far as that, but he thought there might be some doubt about them," George a