"Perhaps to-morrow," remarked Duff Salter significantly. "I shall have a man here who will either confer it on you permanently or cure you instantly."
Duff Salter put on his hat, took his stick, and drew the curtains down.
Mike was sitting at the writing table arranging some models of vessels and steam tugs as his employer turned at the doorway and looked back, and, with a countenance more waggish than exasperated, Duff Salter shook his cane at the unobservant Irishman, and sagely gestured with his head.
Agnes was about to take the head of the tea-table as he came down the stairs.
"No," motioned Duff Salter, and pointed out of doors.
He gave a slight examination to Agnes, so delicate as to be almost unnoticed, though she perceived it.
Duff sat at the tea side and wrote on his tablets:
"How is little Podge coming on?"
"Growing better," replied Agnes, "but she will be unfit to teach her school for months. Kind friends have sent her many things."
Duff Salter waited a little while, and wrote: