"And then I'll make him one."
The corners of Mr. Finch's mouth twitched perceptibly.
"Gently, dear sir! Remember, please, that I am only concerned with the immediate situation. To-morrow I start again for Bristol, leaving the future to be dealt with as your prudence may direct. But I have no doubt," he added, with a bow "that you will act, in all contingencies, with a single eye to the child's welfare. It is understood, then, that the child, Tristram Salt, remains under the care of Captain Barker, your friend, and his adoptive father—"
"Not at all."
"I think so," said Dr. Beckerleg quietly, looking straight into the Captain's eyes.
"That's for me to decide, Doctor."
"Tut, tut! it was decided the moment you were born."
"I think," Mr. Finch interposed, "it is time I gave Captain Runacles some necessary information about the boy's inheritance."
It was close upon four o'clock when the little blue door which, until that morning, had remained shut for over four years was opened a second time and Captain Runacles stepped through into Captain Barker's domain. His wig was carefully brushed and he carried a gold-headed cane. Whatever emotion he may have felt was concealed by the upright carriage and solemn pace proper to a visit of state.
Captain Barker, who stood at the lower end of the garden and stooped over his beloved tulips, started at the sound of footsteps, looked round, and hastily plucking his wig from the handle of a spade that stood upright in the mould by his elbow, arranged it upon his bald scalp and awaited the other's advance.