FIRST EDITION . . . May 1914 Reprinted . . . . . May 1914 Reprinted . . . . . November 1914 Reprinted . . . . . April 1915 Reprinted . . . . . June 1915 Reprinted 1/- net . . . July 1915 Reprinted . . . . . July 1915 Reprinted . . . . . August 1915 Reprinted . . . . . August 1915 Reprinted . . . . . September 1915 Reprinted . . . . . November 1915 Reprinted . . . . . January 1916 Reprinted . . . . . September 1916 Reprinted . . . . . March 1917
I. THE SIGN II. THE DREAM COTTAGE III. THE PLEASANT LAND OF FRANCE IV. THE INSTALLATION V. SUSAN PREPARES VI. THE VISITOR ARRIVES VII. JOSEPHINA VIII. LIGHT OUT OF THE DARKNESS IX. SALVAGE
X. BLUDGEONINGS XI. MORE BLUDGEONINGS XII. POSY XIII. RUCTIONS XIV. JAMES MIGGOTT XV. AT WEYMOUTH XVI. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION XVII. INTRODUCES CYRUS P. HUNSAKER XVIII. EXPLOSIONS XIX. THINGS AND PERSONS XX. BLACKMAIL XXI. MABEL DREDGE XXII. A TEST XXIII. THE RESULT
"Good-evening!" Quinney replied, as he passed a stout red-faced fellow-townsman.
With his back to the man, Quinney smiled. He could remember the day, not so long ago, when Pinker, the grocer, called him "My lad." Then his whimsical face grew solemn, as he remembered that a smile might be misinterpreted by others whose eyes were fixed upon him with sympathy and interest. He walked more slowly, as befitted a chief mourner returning from his father’s funeral, but he was queerly sensible of a desire to run and shout and laugh. He wanted to run from a drab past into a rosy future; he wanted to shout aloud that he was free—free! He wanted to laugh, because it seemed so utterly absurd to pull a long face because a tyrant was dead and buried. The fact that the old man was buried made a vast difference.
Suddenly he was confronted by a burly foot-passenger, who held out a huge hand and spoke in a deep, muffled voice.
"So, Old Joe is dead, and Young Joe reigns in his stead?"
Despite his efforts, a note of triumph escaped him.
"Left you everything?" continued the burly man. Quinney nodded, and after a pause the other continued huskily: "Old Joe had something snug to leave—hey?"
"Well, my boy, hold on to it—as he did. It’s a damned sight easier to make money than to keep it."
Quinney shrugged his shoulders and passed on, slightly exasperated because a butcher had stopped him in Mel Street, Melchester, with the obvious intention of pumping details out of him. The butcher walked on, chuckling to himself.