“Or get an hour nearer,” said Uncle Richard; and they went down and ground till Mrs Fidler summoned them to their meal.
Chapter Fourteen.
The next morning came a letter from Mornington Crescent, announcing that James Brandon had met with an accident, and been knocked down by a cab. The letter was written by Sam, evidently at his father’s dictation, and on the fly-leaf was a postscript self-evidently not at James Brandon’s dictation, for it was as follows—
“P.S.—Dear Uncle, there isn’t much the matter, only a few bruises, only the pater makes such a fuss. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Charming youth, your cousin,” said Uncle Richard, as he rose and went into his little study to answer the letter, leaving Tom at liberty for a few minutes, which he utilised by going down the garden to where David was busy.
“Morning, sir. How’s the machine getting on?”
“Capitally, David.”
“That’s right, sir. I hope you and the master ’ll make some’at out of it, for people do go on dreadful about it down the village.”