Leslie nodded.
“First, then, there is a good tea, with some meat; and while we are having that I shall send off a messenger.”
“To find them?”
“No. Wait.”
Leslie had found out that the best way to deal with Uncle Luke was to treat him like a conger-eel, such as they caught among the rocks about Hakemouth. Once hooked, if the fisher dragged at the line, the snaky monster pulled and fought till the line cut into the holder’s hands, and sometimes was broken or the hook torn out: whereas, if, instead of pulling, the creature had its head given, it began to swim up rapidly, and placed itself within reach of the gaff. So, in spite of his fretful irritation of mind he allowed the old man to have his own way.
The result was, that before they sat down to their meal at the quiet hotel, Uncle Luke wrote a letter, which was dispatched by special messenger, after which he ate heartily; while Leslie played with a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast.
“Not the way to do work,” said Uncle Luke grimly. “Eat, man; eat. Coal and coke to make the human engine get up steam.”
Leslie made an effort to obey, but everything seemed distasteful, and he took refuge behind a paper till the waiter entered with a card.
“Hah! yes; show him in,” said Uncle Luke. “Here he is, Leslie,” he continued.
“Here who is?”