“Little of both, perhaps. Take the happy medium, Dick.”
“Ah, that’s better,” exclaimed the boy, whose face was now bright and beaming. “I do hate to see you in one of those sulky, ill-humoured fits of yours.”
“Yes, they are objectionable; but where are you going?”
“Going? I was coming after you. I say, I’ve made it right.”
“Made what right?”
“Why, that. I hung about till I saw the Dymcoxes’ maid, a regular old griffin; and when I spoke to her she looked as if she would have snapped off my head. Couldn’t make anything of her, but I’ve secured the footman.”
“Under military arrest?”
“No, no, of course not. You know what I mean. I tipped him a sov., and the fellow seemed to think I had gone mad; then he thought I meant to have given him a shilling, and told me so. I don’t believe he hardly knew what a sov. was, and he’d do anything for me now. He’ll take letters, or messages, or anything; and he says that I was right.”
“What about?”
“What about? Why, those two ancient patriarchs; and that he is sure the old women are going to make up a match and regularly sell the girls. Glen, old fellow, this must be stopped.”