Cook went off to seize a door-mat, carry it out on the front steps, and then and there she banged it down, and began to thump it with the head of the long broom, as if in imagination she had Sam beneath her feet.
“She didn’t understand me,” said Tom to himself, as he hurried into the breakfast-room, feeling that after all it would be very painful to go, but not shaken in his determination.
“Morning, Mr Tom,” said Mary, who looked bright and cheerful in her clean print dress, as she made pleasant morning music by rattling the silver spoons into the china saucers. “Ain’t it a nice morning? The sun’s quite hot.”
“Yes, a beautiful morning,” said Tom sadly, as he gave the girl a wistful look, before going into a corner, sitting down and opening Tidd’s Practice for what his cousin called a grind.
Then with a sigh he went on reading, giving quite a start when Mary had finished her preparations for breakfast, and came to whisper—
“Cook ain’t going, sir; she says she wouldn’t go and leave you here alone for nothing, and I won’t neither.”
Tom felt as if he could not speak, and he had no need to, for the maid slipped out of the room, and the next minute Uncle Richard entered to nod to him gravely.
“Morning, my lad,” he said rather sternly. “That’s right—never waste time.”
How cold and repellent he seemed: so different to his manner upon the previous night, when the boy had felt drawn towards him. The effect was to make Tom feel more disposed than ever to carry out his plan, and he was longing for the breakfast to be over, so that he could make his start for the office.
But it wanted half-an-hour yet, and the boy had just plunged more deeply into his book, when Uncle Richard said—