“My beautiful nephew and that parasite. Going up to Leslie, I suppose—to smoke. Waste and debauchery—smoking.”
He shut the window sharply, and settled himself down with his back to it, determined not to see his nephew pass; but five minutes later there was a sharp rapping at the door.
“Uncle Luke! Uncle!”
The old man made no reply.
“Here, Uncle Luke. I know you’re at home; the old woman said so.”
“Hang that old woman!” grumbled Uncle Luke; and in response to a fresh call he rose, and opened his door with a snatch.
“Now, then, what is it? I’m just going to bed.”
“Bed at this time of the day?” cried Harry cheerfully. “Why you couldn’t go to sleep if you did go.”
“Why not?” snapped the old man; “you can in the mornings—over the ledger.”
Harry winced, but he turned off the malicious remark with a laugh.