‘By breakfast-time,’ said Dick, but still not over-graciously.
‘Nothing could be better; that will give us a long day, and I should like a full discussion with your father. You’ll manage to send me on to—what’s the name?’
‘Moate.’
‘Moate. Yes; that’s the place. The up-train leaves at midnight, I remember. Now that’s all settled. You’ll take me up, then, here on Friday morning, Kearney, on your way to the station, and meanwhile I’ll set to work, and put off these deputations and circulars till Saturday, when, I remember, I have a dinner with the provost. Is there anything more to be thought of?’
‘I believe not,’ muttered Dick, still sullenly.
‘Bye-bye, then, till Friday morning,’ said he, as he turned towards his desk, and began arranging a mass of papers before him.
‘Here’s a jolly mess with a vengeance,’ muttered Kearney, as he descended the stair. ‘The Viceroy’s private secretary to be domesticated with a “head-centre” and an escaped convict. There’s not even the doubtful comfort of being able to make my family assist me through the difficulty.’