“Back again?”
“Yes, I was at the up-stairs window just now and I saw him pass as I was looking out for Harry Vine. He’s very late this morning, and it does make papa so vexed.”
It was late, for instead of being nine o’clock, the clock in the office was on the stroke of ten as Harry Vine hurriedly entered, and glanced at the yellowy-white faced dial.
“Morning, Mr Crampton. I say, that clock’s fast, isn’t it?”
“Eh? fast?” said the old man grimly. “No, Mr Harry Vine; that’s a steady old time-keeper, not a modern young man.”
“Disagreeable old hunks,” said Harry to himself, as he hung up his hat. “Bad headache this morning, Mr Crampton, thought I shouldn’t be able to come.”
“Seidlitz powder,” said the old man, scratching away with his pen. “Eh?”
“Dissolve the blue in a tumbler of warm water.”
“Bother!” muttered Harry, frowning.
“The white in a wineglassful of cold. Pour one into the other—and—drink—while effervescing.”