There was not a secret between them. Either would have given the other his last penny and felt grateful for the acceptance of it. It was a singular friendship, for no two men could be more unlike than Leonard Dagle, the hard-working barrister, and Jack Newcombe, the spendthrift, the ne’er-do-well, and—the Savage.
“Is that you, Jack?” exclaimed Leonard, straightening his back. “Home already?”
“Yes, I’m back.”
“What’s the matter—tired?”
“Tired—bored—humbled—thoroughly used up! I’ve got news for you, Len.”
“Bad or good?”
“Bad as they can be. First the squire’s dead!”
“Dead?”
“Yes, dead and buried. Poor old fellow!”
“I am very sorry. Then you—then you—am I addressing the Squire of Hurst Leigh?”