“Because I don’t want to,” was the reply; and no more was said.
But that afternoon soon after dinner, which was brought up to them by the housekeeper on a folding-tray, and just when the irksomeness of their position was pressing hardest upon their brains, there was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the door, the handle was turned without any waiting for permission, and Wrench’s head was thrust in.
“I say, young gents,” he cried, “here’s a go!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Glyn anxiously. “Don’t say Slegge’s worse.”
“I wasn’t going to, sir. It’s something worse than that.”
“What?”
“There’s a gentleman along with the Doctor.”
“A gentleman!” cried the boys together.
“Yes; a tall, military-looking gentleman, with long white starchers, and such a voice. He seemed as if he wanted to look me through. Fierce as fierce he was when he gave me his card to take in.”
“What was on the card?” cried Glyn excitedly.