“All right, lad, we’ll tell him. You’d better keep in the fields for the first few miles.”
Frank had been home about an hour, when the servant told him that one of his men wished to speak to him. Frank went to the door. “Ah, Baker,” he said, “what is it?”
“Well, Gaffer, I’ve come up to speak to you about Evan; but I don’t want any one to hear me”—and he looked round mysteriously.
“Nonsense, man, there’s no one to hear you here; but come in.”
The man followed into the sitting-room.
“This is Baker, Katie, one of my best plate-layers.”
Kate smiled at the man, who bowed confusedly.
“Now, what is it, Baker?”
“Well, sir, young Holl’s got himself into a scrape, surely.”
“Has he?” Frank said, much vexed. “What the deuce has he been up to now? he’s never got into a scrape before since I had him.”