“Bah! nonsense! Think I can’t hang up my own hat now.”
George Vine smiled, and he shook his head at his brother with a good-humoured smile as he let him follow his own bent.
“That’s right. Come along. Louy dear, I’ve brought Uncle Luke up to tea. All dark? Liza, bring the lamp.”
Liza had passed through the baize-covered door which separated the domestic offices from the rest of the house, and did not hear the order.
“Louy? Louy dear!”
“Oh! I don’t mind the dark,” said Uncle Luke. “Here, why don’t the girl let in some air these hot nights?” he continued, as he crossed the room towards the big embayment, with its stained glass heraldic device.
Crack! Crackle!
“Hullo here! broken glass under one’s feet,” said Luke Vine, with a chuckle. “This comes of having plenty of servants to keep your place clean.”
“Glass?”
“Yes, glass. Can’t you hear it?” snarled Uncle Luke, who, as he found his brother resume his old demeanour, relapsed into his own. “There! glass—glass—glass crunching into your Turkey carpet.”