“Who pockets sixpenny lives at pool when he isn’t losing,” said Tom—“a wretch, a demon. Vot a larks!”
“Good game, pool, when your hand is steady. Yes, my boy, yes,” said his lordship, who was now rapidly calming down, and looking frightened.
“Thank heaven,” cried her ladyship, in tragic tones, “civilisation has introduced the private inquirer. I know all now, and my course is clear.”
“Know all, eh?” said Tom, “Why, mamma, you’ve had a splendid pen’orth. All that about Charley Melton, and the private information about the governor chucked in.”
“‘Chucked!’” ejaculated her ladyship, in tones which sounded as if she were forming an enormous “poster” for a hoarding. “‘Chucked!’ And this is my expensively-educated son. Justine, help me to my room.”
“Funnee lil mans,” said Justine to herself as Tom gave her a peculiar look.