Mike began to whistle, and said nothing for a few moments.
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t be well off,” he said; “he’s getting old, and he’s very mean, and never spends money upon himself.”
Vince nodded, and remained silent.
Then came a lovely morning after the week’s bad weather, and Vincent was just starting for Sir Francis Ladelle’s rather unwillingly, to join Mike for the day’s studies, when there was a cheery whistle outside and his fellow-pupil appeared.
“I say!” he cried, “father said it was a shame for us to lose such a fine day, and he told Mr Deane to give us a holiday.”
“Eh? What’s that?” cried the Doctor. “Here, I’m off up to the house to put a stop to that. I’m not going to pay half that tutor’s expenses if this sort of idleness is to be encouraged.”
Mike looked aghast.
“It’s all right,” said Vince merrily; “father doesn’t mean it.”
“Oh, don’t I!” cried the Doctor, frowning.
“No: does he, mother?”