Мертвая комната. Уровень 2 / The Dead Secret

Treverton and pointed with indignant surprise at Shrowl's breast. “You ugly brute, you've got a clean shirt on!”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Shrowl. “This is a joyful occasion, it's my master's birthday. Many happy returns, Sir. Perhaps you think I forget that today is your birthday? How old are you today? It's a long time ago, Sir, since you were a plump little boy, with a frill round your neck, and marbles in your pocket, and kisses and presents from Pa and Ma and uncle and aunt, on your birthday. Don't you be afraid of me.

“Don't waste a clean shirt on my funeral,” retorted Mr. Treverton. “I won't left you any money in my will, Shrowl. You'll be on your way to the work-house when I'm on my way to the grave.”

“Have you really made your will at last, Sir?” inquired Shrowl. “I humbly beg pardon, but I always thought you were afraid to do it.”

Mr. Treverton thumped his crust of bread on the table, and looked up angrily at Shrowl.

“You fool!” said he. “I don't make it, and I won't make it, on principle[16 - on principle – из принципа, по убеждению]. Rich men who leave money behind them are the farmers who raise the crop of human wickedness. When a man is bad, if you want to make him worse, leave him a legacy!”

Shrowl chuckled sarcastically.

“Whom will get my money?” cried Mr. Treverton. “My brother, who thinks me a brute now; who thinks me a fool then?! He will spend all my money among crazy people and actors? Or the child of that actress, whom I have never seen.

Shrowl got a little irritated.

“What's the use of talking nonsense about your money?” he said. “You must leave it to somebody.”

“Yes, I will,” said Mr. Treverton. “I will leave it, as I have told you over and over again, to the first Somebody I can find who honestly despises money.

“That means nobody,” grunted Shrowl.

“I know what to do!” retorted his master.

Before Shrowl uttered a word, there was a ring at the gate-bell of the cottage.

“Go out,” said Mr. Treverton, “and see what that is.”

Mr. Treverton filled and lit his pipe. Soon Shrowl returned, and reported a man visitor.

“I picked up his letter,” said Shrowl. “He poked it under the gate and went away. Here it is.”

As Mr.