And so John Tincroft went on weaving his fancies so industriously that he lost himself in his reveries, till, without knowing it, he instinctively entered the precincts of the Manor House, and was approaching its hospitable doors.
Then, all at once, a loud joyous shout of surprise rang in his ears; and before he had quite recovered his senses, he found himself clapped on the shoulder, hugged by the arm, and otherwise pleasantly assaulted, not by Richard Grigson but by his old friend Tom; while close by there stood young Tom also, with whom John had made some acquaintance on one of those flying visits to Tincroft House of which I have spoken in a previous chapter.
"Why, Tom, my dear friend, who would have thought of finding you here?" gasped John, when a hand-shaking all round had been performed.
"Well, there's nothing wonderful in that, is there?" said the senior Tom, laughing. "Nothing strange in my liking to see the old place now and then, eh? Dick and I have not quarrelled, have we?"
"No, no, of course not. But for all that, it is an unexpected pleasure to meet you when I should have thought you were two hundred miles away, on the banks of the Thames."
"Where you never came to find me at home," put in Tom.
"And don't you think it is quite as unexpected a pleasure to me—and Dick too—to meet you here, when we might have thought you to be three hundred miles away? You see, the odds were against your being here, after all," added Tom Grigson. "But how I came here is easily explained. I got hipped and fagged with business, and young Tom here wanted a run, he thought, and so we have been quartering ourselves on Dick for a week or two, leaving Kate and the girls to keep house while we are away."
"But room enough for you, and half-a-dozen more like you, if they could be found, John," added Richard Grigson, once more clapping Tincroft on the shoulder. "And you are come to stay with me, of course—a month at least. But why didn't you bring Mrs. Tincroft with you? And where's your luggage? But never mind; we'll talk all about that when we get indoors; and Tom, young rascal, you run in and tell Mrs. Harris—(my old housekeeper is dead, but I have got another, pretty nearly as old, and almost as good as she was when you knew her, Tincroft)—" this by way of parenthesis—"tell her, Tom, to get lunch out at once; for here's a poor half-starved loon come to eat us out of house and home."
And so exit young Tom.
"And now that young fellow is gone," continued Mr. Richard, in another tone, "tell us all about it, dear friend—that is, if speaking will relieve you. What is the matter? For I am afraid there is something on your mind; you look so serious."