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'Are we?' cried his brother. 'I bet we're not! Have I committed forgery?
have I lied about Uncle Joseph? have I put idiotic advertisements in the
comic papers? have I smashed other people's statues? I like your cheek,
Morris Finsbury. No, I've let you run my affairs too long; now they
shall go to Michael. I like Michael, anyway; and it's time I understood
my situation.'
At this moment the brethren were interrupted by a ring at the bell,
and Morris, going timorously to the door, received from the hands of a
commissionaire a letter addressed in the hand of Michael. Its contents
ran as follows:
MORRIS FINSBURY, if this should meet the eye of, he will hear of
SOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE at my office, in Chancery Lane, at 10
A.M.
tomorrow.
MICHAEL FINSBURY
So utter was Morris's subjection that he did not wait to be asked, but
handed the note to John as soon as he had glanced at it himself.
'That's the way to write a letter,' cried John. 'Nobody but Michael
could have written that.'
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