“I don’t care, sir, I won’t believe it.”
“Believe what, Pringle?”
“As them two’s brothers, sir. It’s against nature. Look here, I wouldn’t have it at first, but he was quite angry, and said I must, and that I was to take it as a present from you.”
“What is it?” said Tom; “a letter?”
“Yes, sir, to your uncle’s lawyer, asking him as a favour to try and get me work.”
“Then you’ll get it, Pringle,” cried Tom.
“That I shall, sir. And look here, cheque on his banker for five-and-twenty pounds, as he would make me have, to be useful till I get a fresh clerkship. Now, ought I to take it, Mr Thomas?”
“Of course,” cried Tom. “There, in with you. Good-night, Pringle, good-night.”
“But ought I to take that cheque, Mr Thomas? because I didn’t earn it, and didn’t want to,” cried Pringle, leaning out of the carriage window; “Ought I to keep it, sir?”
“Yes,” cried Tom, as the train moved off, and he ran along the platform, “to buy a new hat.”