“Lor’, no, Mas’r Harry, not there. Nothing’s wrong, only that Sally’s left, and that’s all right, ain’t it?”
I did not answer, but, going to the yard gate, pushed it open, and the hinges gave a dismal creak.
“Bit o’ soap would not hurt them,” said Tom sententiously, and he followed me through the yard.
I peeped in at the old, familiar boiling-house, but though work had lately been in progress there was no one there; so I went on to the back door and was about to enter, but Tom laid his hand on my arm.
“Would you mind my going in first, Mas’r Harry?” he said softly. “I know it ain’t right, but I should like to go in just once—first.”
I drew back and Tom stepped forward to go in, but as he raised his hand to the latch he dropped it again and turned back to me.
“’Twouldn’t be right, sir, for me to go afore you; and don’t you think, Mas’r Harry, now that you’re a great, rich gentleman just come over from foreign abroad, that it would be more genteel-like to go round to the front and give a big knock afore you went in?”
“Well, let’s go round to the front, Tom. Perhaps it isn’t right to come round here. We might startle them.”
“Wouldn’t startle Sally, even if she were here, Mas’r Harry. Nothing never did startle she, though she ain’t here now.”
The fact was that I felt as nervous and tremulous about going in as poor Tom, and accordingly we went round to the front, and after a moment’s hesitation I gave a rap at the door.