“For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. My late husband, I mean. I should scarcely have known you. “Tut, tut!” he said. "Then I advise you to look sharply after him, Mr. Sheppard, "and, if it please you to visit your indignation on any one let it be upon me, and not on your excellent husband, whose only fault is in having bestowed his charity upon so unworthy an object as myself.
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