“From London?”
“Yes, sir; he said his name was Pringle.”
“Pringle!” cried Tom eagerly. “Where is he?”
“In the dining-room with your uncle, sir; and I was to send you in as soon as you came back.”
Tom hurried in, and found the clerk from Gray’s Inn very smartly dressed. His hat was all glossy, and there was a flower in his button-hole.
“Ah, Pringle,” cried the boy, “I’m so glad to see you. This is Pringle, who was so kind to me, uncle, when I was at the office.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, rather grimly; “Mr Pringle has already introduced himself, and—ahem!—told me of the friendly feeling which existed between you.”
The clerk, who had evidently been very uncomfortable, had brightened up a little at the sight of Tom, but his countenance fell again at Uncle Richard’s words.
“Now, Mr Pringle, perhaps you will be good enough to repeat that which you have told me—in confidence, for I should like my nephew to hear it, so that he can give his opinion upon the matter.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Pringle, brightening up, and becoming the sharp-speaking clerk once more. “The fact is, Mr Thomas, I have left Mr Brandon’s office—which I won’t deceive you, sir, he didn’t give me no chance to resign, but in consequence of a misunderstanding with Mr Samuel, because I wouldn’t tell lies for him, he sent me off at once.”