Sam’s eyes both opened widely, and he rose to his feet, then directed an imploring look at his uncle, who drew back, pointed up the stairs, and the lad shivered slightly as he went slowly by him, and began to ascend.
“Hang it all, Richard, is this house mine or is it yours?” said James Brandon.
“Mine,” said his brother—“while I am your guest, of course. Thank you, Jem, I’ll take my cane, if you please. It is a favourite old malacca—a presentation.”
He took the cane quietly from his brother’s hand and replaced it in the stand, with the result that cook uttered a titter and hurried down-stairs, followed by Mary, bearing a dustpan full of broken sherds.
“Come, that’s better,” said Uncle Richard, disregarding his brother’s angry gesture. “Now, my dear Fanny, let me take you to the drawing-room. The storm’s over, and the sun is coming out. Don’t let’s spoil my visit because the boys fell out and broke a vase.”
“No, no, Richard,” said Mrs Brandon, half hysterically, as she yielded at once and took her brother-in-law’s arm. “But you don’t know. That boy has the temper of a demon.”
“What, Sam?”
“No, no, No! That boy Thomas. We haven’t had a day’s peace since he came into the house. And now a fifty-pound vase broken. Oh! the wicked boy.”
“I didn’t do it, aunt. It was Sam,” came from the head of the staircase.
“Ah! Silence there, sir!” shouted Uncle Richard. “How dare you stand there listening! Be off, and make yourself decent for dinner.”