“Like conger-pie, boy?”
“No,” said Harry, shortly.
“More nice than wise,” said Uncle Luke. “Always were. There, be quick. I want to see your master.”
“To see my master,” thought Harry, with a strange feeling of exasperation in his breast as he looked up at Crampton.
Crampton was looking up at him with eyes which said very clearly, “Well, why don’t you go?”
“They’ll make me an errand boy next,” said the young man to himself, as after twisting his locket round and round like a firework, he swung himself down, “and want me to clean the knives and boots and shoes.”
“Tell him I’m in a hurry,” said Uncle Luke, as Harry reached the door which led into the private house along a passage built and covered with glass, by one side of what was originally a garden.
“Ah,” said Uncle Luke, going closer to old Crampton’s desk, and taking down from where it rested on two brass hooks the heavy ebony ruler. “Nice bit o’ wood that.”
“Yes, sir,” said the old clerk, in the fidgety way of a workman who objects to have his tools touched.
“Pretty weighty,” continued Uncle Luke, balancing it in his hand. “Give a man a pretty good topper that, eh?”