Abel Newt grinned; his lips moved: he was muttering "Dear Uncle Lawrence." He stopped writing, and carefully burned, as before, the check and all the paper.

Then covering his face with his hands as he sat, he said to himself, as the hot, hurried thoughts flickered through his mind, "Yes, yes, Mrs.Lawrence Newt, I shall not be master of Pinewood, but I shall be of your husband, and he will be master of your property.
Practice makes perfect.

Dear Uncle Lawrence shall be my banker." His brain reeled and whirled as he sat.

He remembered the words of his friend the General: "Abel Newt was not born to fail." "No, by God!" he shouted, springing up, and clenching his hands.
He staggered.

The walls of the room, the floor, the ceiling, the furniture heaved and rolled before his eyes.