“One will do, uncle.”
“No, boy; we must have two, and begin as before. The lower one is useless now, unless I keep it for a polishing tool.”
Chapter Twenty.
“Master Tom, I’d be the last person in the world to find fault, or pick people to pieces, and I’m sure master knows that, as it’s his brother, I’d do anything; but really, my dear, I don’t think he’s so bad as he says.”
“Do you think not, Mrs Fidler?”
“I feel sure not, my dear. Here has he been down here for three weeks now, and the nursing up he’s had is wonderful. You look at the beef-tea he’s had, and the calves’-foot jelly I’ve made, and the port wine he has drunk, let alone the soles and chickens and chops he has every day.”
“But what makes you think Uncle James is not so ill?”
“Because he eats and drinks so much, my dear. I think he’s all right, only got something on his mind.”