"Todd himself? Well, I never," said Plunkett. "Why, I thought you was off in Africa for the rest of your life."
"So I thought, too," Todd answered, with an admiring glance at Marigold. "How d'you do,—eh? Not forgot your old playfellow?" he asked, as he shook hands with both the girls. "So I thought, too; but I got tired of Africa. Didn't seem to pay somehow. And I thought I'd come home."
Plunkett moved his head dubiously. There was nothing of the rolling stone in Plunkett's nature. He liked to see an old acquaintance, but to approve was not possible. James Todd was one of those people who are always turning up on hand, when their friends count them to be comfortably disposed of. He was so big, bodily, that there was no chance of overlooking him, wherever he might happen to be; and he had such a genial manner, that everybody liked him; but, none the less, what to do with Todd had been a problem of long standing, and it recurred with embarrassing frequency. Two years earlier he had gone out as an emigrant to South Africa, having failed to find at home any work suited to his capacities and inclinations.
His affectionate relatives did at last hope that he was safely off their hands; but the hope proved futile. Here he was again, big and good-humoured, self-satisfied and lazy, as ever.
"Thought you'd come home—for what?" asked Plunkett.
"That's what I've been asking," put in Mrs. Plunkett. "And he don't know."
"I am ready for anything as may turn up. That's what it is," declared Todd cheerfully.
"Things don't turn up without they're looked for," said Plunkett.
"I'll look for 'em. Never you fear. I'm not come back to live an idle life." Todd spoke with an air of virtuous resolution. "There's always something wants doing, and there ain't many things I can't do." He kept his seat with the air of one very much at home, and in no hurry to depart.
Narcissus gaped sleepily.