Just then a door opened, letting in a broad band of sunshine full of dancing motes, and at the same time Samuel Brandon, a lad of about the same age as Tom, but rather slighter of build, but all the same more manly of aspect. He was better dressed too, and wore a white flower in his button-hole, and a very glossy hat. One glove was off, displaying a signet-ring, and he brought with him into the dingy office a strong odour of scent, whose source was probably the white pocket-handkerchief prominently displayed outside his breast-pocket.
“Hullo, bumpkin!” he cried. “How’s Tidd getting on?”
“Very slowly,” said Tom. “I wish you’d try and explain what this bit means.”
“Likely! Think I’m going to find you in brains. Hurry on and peg away. Shovel it in, and think you are going to be Lord Chancellor some day. Guv’nor in his room?”
“No; he has gone on down to the Court. Going out?”
“Yes; up the river—Maidenhead. You heard at the breakfast, didn’t you?”
Tom shook his head.
“I didn’t hear,” he said sadly.
“You never hear anything or see anything. I never met such a dull, chuckle-headed chap as you are. Why don’t you wake up?”
“I don’t know; I do try,” said Tom sadly.