But it was a long time that night before John Garstang slept.
Chapter Ten.
“I say, guv’nor, when’s old Garstang going?”
“Oh, very soon, now, boy,” said James Wilton testily.
“But you said that a week ago, and he seems to be settling down as if the place belonged to him.”
The father uttered a deep, long-drawn sigh.
“It’s no use for you to snort, dad; that doesn’t do any good. Why don’t you tell him to be off?”
“No, no; impossible; and mind what you are about; be civil to him.”