“Didn’t I tell you he wasn’t at home?” said the boy.
“Yes, sir; and I was going to wait till he returned.”
“It’s of no use to wait; he don’t want to see you.”
“Do you think not?” said the old man, humbly.
“I’m sure he don’t. What have you got to sell?”
“Skins, sir, skins, principally sheep,” said the tanner, respectfully.
“Well, look here: just you be off. The governor buys all his skins when he wants ’em at the law stationers, but he hardly ever uses one. It’s the solicitors who do that. Now then, off you go.”
Just then the door opened, and a well-known voice called “Dick” loudly, the speaker coming out on to the stone landing, and then starting with surprise.
“Why, father!” he exclaimed. “You here? I am glad to see you. Really, I am glad to see you.”
The grave, stern way of speaking was gone, and it was Luke Ross of a dozen years before who was shaking the old man by the hands, and then patting him affectionately on the shoulders, the old man dropping umbrella and bag, and the tears starting to his weak old eyes, as he saw his son’s genuine pleasure at the encounter.