So while he washed himself, he made up his mind what he would do and say when the policeman came again, as he had no doubt he would as soon as his uncle came home.
He wrote his letters during the evening, one to his mother into which he put the Christmas card, and in which he told her how well he was getting on, and how he expected to be permanently put into the office soon. Then there was one to his aunt at the village school, and this had to be carefully written, for he knew this would go to the rectory, and so the same story was told to her, but in more carefully chosen words.
Dick's letter to be sent with the gloves was written next, and in this Tom gave a glowing account of his life in London and the splendid streets, where people could walk at night as well as in the daytime. The two last were left open for his uncle to see, but Tom fastened up his mother's, for he did not want him to know he had bought the Christmas card, for fear he should ask inconvenient questions, and he had made up his mind to stick to the story that he had only lent Jack a shilling.
He felt sleepy, but his aunt said he must stay until his uncle came home, and so he had to sit yawning and gaping for nearly an hour.
But at last his uncle's key was heard turning in the lock. And then his aunt ran along the passage, calling, "Wait a minute," while she found the key of the larger lock and unfastened the door.
"What does this mean, Maria?" asked his uncle.
But instead of replying, uncle and aunt both went into the front parlour, and a few minutes later there came the loud knock at the door such as they had heard at tea time.
The policeman was asked into the front room, and then the door closed and Tom could only hear the indistinct murmur of voices.
He wished he could know what was being said, but he firmly made up his mind to say nothing about the betting, but stick to his tale about lending Jack a shilling only.
Presently the door of the front room opened and his uncle came in, followed by the policeman and his aunt.