“You don’t know!—you don’t know anything. I don’t wonder at the governor grumbling at you. You’ll have to pull up your boots if you expect to be articled here, and so I tell you. There, I’m off. I’ve got to meet the mater at Paddington at twelve. I say, got any money?”
“No,” said Tom sadly.
“Tchah! you never have. There, pitch into Tidd. You’ve got your work cut out, young fellow. No letters for me?”
“No. Yes, there is—one.”
“No!—yes! Well, you are a pretty sort of a fellow. Where is it?”
“I laid it in uncle’s room.”
“What! Didn’t I tell you my letters were not to go into his room? Of all the—”
Tom sighed, though he did not hear the last words, for his cousin hurried into the room on their right, came back with a letter, hurried out, and the door swung to again.
“It’s all through being such a fool, I suppose,” muttered the boy. “Why am I not as clever and quick as Sam is? He’s as sharp as uncle; but uncle doesn’t seem a bit like poor mother was.”
Just then Tom Blount made an effort to drive away all thoughts of the past by planting his elbows on the desk, doubling his fists, and resting his puckered-up brow upon them, as he plunged once more into the study of the legal work.