“Well, I don’t know,” said Tom. “He says he’s very bad. I must be off now; it’s time he went out in his bath-chair.”
“Yes, my dear, it’s wonderful what your uncle does for him, what with the flys, and pony-carriages, and the invalid chair got down on purpose for him. I only wish I had such a brother as master.”
For Uncle James had come down ready to groan when he was helped out of the fly, to sigh when he was helped off to bed, and call out when Tom led him to his chair at meal-times. For as soon as he came down he had attached himself to his nephew, and was never satisfied without the boy was at his side.
“Your noo uncle seems to like you, Master Tom,” said David one day.
“Yes; I wish he wouldn’t be quite so fond of me,” replied Tom. “He used not to be in London.”
But Tom’s wishes were of no avail, for his uncle would hardly let him quit his side; and when they were indoors he would sit and gaze wistfully at the boy, and now and then whisper—
“Tom, my boy, I think I ought to tell you, that—”
Then he would stop, and, growing impatient at last, Tom broke out with—
“What is it, uncle, that you want to tell me?”
“Not now, my boy, another time, another time,” and then he would utter a low groan.