Five.
Then the servant—not the Martha who had been privileged to smile on duty if she felt so inclined—came with a tawny gold telegram on a silver plate, and hesitated a moment as to where she should bestow it.
“Give it to me, Selina,” said Janet.
Selina impassively obeyed, imitating as well as she could the deportment of an automaton; and went away.
“That’s my telegram,” said Mr Orgreave. “How is it addressed?”
“Orgreave, Bleakridge, Bursley.”
“Then it’s mine.”
“Oh no, it isn’t!” Janet archly protested. “If you have your business telegrams sent here you must take the consequences. I always open all telegrams that come here, don’t I, mother?”
Mrs Orgreave made no reply, but waited with candid and fretful impatience, thinking of her five absent children, and her ten grandchildren, for the telegram to be opened.