“They neither of them like me,” he said to himself, feeling sadly depressed, when he started, and turned sharply round.
“On’y me, Mr Tom,” said the clerk. “I’ll take that. Directories always live in my office. I say, sir.”
“Yes, Pringle.”
“I used to wish I’d got a lot of rich old uncles, but I don’t now. Wouldn’t give tuppence a dozen for ’em. Ketched again!—All right, Mr Tom, sir; I’ll put it away.”
For the door opened once more, and their late visitor thrust in his head.
“Needn’t tell your uncle I shall come to-night.”
Pringle disappeared with the Directory, and Uncle Richard gazed after him in a grim way as he continued—
“Do you hear? Don’t tell him I shall come; and you needn’t mention that I said he wouldn’t want me, nor to his wife and boy neither. Bye.”
The door closed again, and the inner door opened, and Pringle’s head appeared once more.
“Nor we don’t neither, nor nobody else don’t. I say, Mr Tom, I thought it was the governor. Ever seen him before?”