And then the S.P. came in with a note for Mr Williams. It was from his bank, apparently.
'There must be some mistake,' he said aloud. 'Some one has paid in £207 to my account. Oh, Mrs Ellsley,' looking across at me, 'I can't possibly accept such a sum, you know. Why, one never could thank you for half the things you have done already.'
'Mr Williams, I swear it's nothing to do with me, I haven't done it,' and I glanced across at Ross.
'Captain Fotheringham,' said poor Mr Williams, 'can it possibly be you?'
'Do you know, sir, what a captain's pay is?' asked my brother.
'Why,' I exclaimed, rushing in where angels would fear to tread, 'good gracious, Ross can't live on it without an allowance from his godmother.' ('Since deceased,' I added underneath my breath, to make it truthful).
'No, I suppose not,' said Mr Williams (he is so easy to deceive); 'but what am I to think?'
'Well, I should think it was the most amazing bit of luck, sir,' drawled my brother, slightly bored. 'And I wish you'd introduce me to your friend.'
So Mr Williams went upstairs in a state of complete bewilderment to tell his little wife, and Ross was really rather nice to me, though I was not allowed to mention the subject of our recent conversation. However, he did say that I was a nice child not to have given the show away, kissed me once and called me 'Jonathan,' which he only does when he is pleased with one, I mean not actively displeased. Funny old 'David.'
CHAPTER XXII