Whatever the pressure of business might be, he always declined to attend to it until he had enjoyed a good morning meal.
To-day, for once, not even breakfast and the presence of Dot could prevent an air of haste. Mr. Cragg was anxious to get out as early as might be.
Dot was a small person, even for her limited age, with an obtrusively turned-up nose, and a wide mouth always on the grin. Dot was not easily suppressed. She had an aggressive look of self-confidence, and, like a cork, though she could be pushed under water, she soon rose to the surface again.
Without being in the least pretty, there was a certain charm in her expression of blissful content; and the wide-awake air was startling at less than four years old. Nothing escaped Dot. She already had her own views, ready-made, upon most subjects which came to hand.
Mr. Cragg had been telling her, between mouthfuls of food, about the events of the evening before; Dot listening to him, open-eyed. She possessed big light-grey eyes, and supreme pity now filled them, not so much for the injured man as for Pattie.
"She's a poo-ar lickle girl, ain't she?" came at the first pause. Dot had a considerable vocabulary, but the style of pronunciation was peculiarly her own. "Biggern me, I s'pose, dad?"
"Ever so much bigger than you, Dot."
"Evern so much," repeated Dot, with satisfaction. "And she hasn't got no ma-ma, nor no dadda."
"I'm afraid her dadda is badly hurt. That's what I'm after now, to see how he is, poor man."
Then Cragg was conscious of imprudence. He had not meant to let slip this intention. When one lives with argumentative people, the less said about one's intentions the better, and Cragg had by this time learnt as much.