He had never thought of this place in his life before; but the image of it came into his mind now, as he had seen it on market-days for the last four years--a bran new red-brick building in Malsham High-street.

He thought how his name would look, cut in large letters on a stone tablet on the face of that edifice.
It would be something to get for his money; a very poor and paltry something, compared with the delight of possession, but just a little better than nothing.
He lay for some time pondering upon this, with that image of the stone tablet before his eyes, setting forth that the new wing of this institution had been erected at the desire of the late Stephen Whitelaw, Esq., of Wyncomb Farm, who had bequeathed a sum of money to the infirmary for that purpose, whereby two new wards had, in memory of that respected benefactor, been entitled the Whitelaw wards--or something to the like effect.

He composed a great many versions of the inscription as he lay there, tolerably easy as to his bodily feelings, and chiefly anxious concerning the disposal of the money; but, being unaccustomed to the task of composition, he found it more difficult than he could have supposed to set forth his own glory in a concise form of words.

But the tablet would be there, of course, the very centre and keystone of the building, as it were; indeed, Mr.Whitelaw resolved to make his bequest contingent upon the fulfilment of this desire.

Later in the evening he told William Carley that he had made up his mind about his will, and would be glad to see Mr.Pivott, of Malsham, rival solicitor to Mr.Randall, of the same town, as soon as that gentleman could be summoned to his bedside.
The bailiff seemed surprised at this request.
"Why, surely, Steph, you can't want a lawyer mixed up in the business!" he said.