“I couldn’t do it, Dick—I couldn’t do it,” groaned his brother piteously. “I’m as feeble as a babe.”
“Then the fresh air will strengthen you,” said Uncle Richard; and moaning softly as he drew his breath, James Brandon went slowly down the gravel walk.
“Only does that moaning noise when he thinks about it,” said Sam, as he entered the house.
“No, I’ve noticed that,” replied Tom; but all the same he felt annoyed by his cousin’s brutal indifference. “Let me take your hat.”
“No, thanks. Hang it up myself. Don’t want it spoiled.”
Tom drew back while the hat and cane were deposited in their places; and then the pair entered the little dining-room, where a luncheon tray was already placed at one end of the table, but with coffee-pot and bread-and-butter just being arranged by Mrs Fidler.
“Ah, that’s your sort,” said Sam; “but I say, old lady, I’m peckish; haven’t you got anything beside this?”
“Some ham is being fried, sir, and some eggs boiled,” said Mrs Fidler rather stiffly.
“Hah! that’s better,” said Sam; and Mrs Fidler left the room. “Well, young fellow, how are you getting on?” he continued, as he seated himself and began upon the breakfast. “What do you do here—clean the knives and boots?”
“No,” said Tom.