“I am very sorry, Pringle,” said Tom sympathetically.
“So am I, sir,” replied the clerk; “and same time, so I ain’t. But to business, sir. So long as I was Mr Brandon’s clerk, sir, my mouth seemed to be shut, sir; but now I ain’t Mr Brandon’s clerk, sir, it’s open; and feeling, as I did, that there are things that you and your respected uncle ought to hear—”
“About my uncle and cousin?” cried Tom, flushing.
“Yes, sir. There was certain papers, sir, as—”
“Thank you, Pringle,” cried Tom quickly; “neither my Uncle Richard nor I want to hear a single word about matters that are dead and buried.”
“Thank you, Tom,” cried Uncle Richard eagerly. “Mr Pringle will bear me out when I say, that you have used my exact words.”
“Yes, sir,” said Pringle, looking into his hat, as if to consult the maker’s name. “I can corroborate that—the very words.”
“So you see, Mr Pringle,” continued Uncle Richard, rising to lay his hand upon his nephew’s shoulder, “you have brought your information to a bad market, and if you expected to sell—”
“Which I’m sure I didn’t, sir,” cried the clerk, springing up, and indignantly banging his hat down upon the table, to its serious injury about the crown. “I never thought about a penny, sir, and I wouldn’t take one. I came down here, sir, because I was free, sir, and to try and do a good turn to Mr Thomas here, sir, who was always a pleasant young gentleman to me, and I didn’t like the idea of his being done out of his rights.”
“Indeed!” said Uncle Richard, looking at the man searchingly.