“Poor old Pringle!” thought Tom. “I ought to write to him.”
“Sam is right,” said the lad’s father; “and—and—oh, dear me, how weak I feel! I don’t want to be troubled about business. Take me in now, Dick.”
“Come along, then,” said his brother good-humouredly. “Tom, my lad, you’d better show your cousin about the place, and try and interest him.”
“All right, uncle,” was the reply; and the two boys stood watching the brothers going towards the house.
“I don’t know that I want to be shown about,” said Sam haughtily. “I’m not a child. You country people seem to think that we want to see your cabbages and things. Here, let’s go and look at the windmill. I say, did they have a row about it?”
“What—Uncle James and Uncle Richard?”
“Of course, stupid; who did you think I meant?”
“How could they have a row about the observatory?”
“I said windmill, stupid.”
“It’s an observatory now,” said Tom coldly.