“Do you think, Frank, that I acted like a fool?”
Pratt smoked for a moment or two, then he turned one of his fingers into a tobacco stopper, and lastly removed his pipe.
“Well, speaking as counsel, whose opinion is that you ought to have waited, and left the matter to the law to sift, I say yes.”
“But speaking as my old friend, Frank Pratt,” said Richard, “and as an honest man?”
“Well, we won’t discuss that,” said Frank, hopping off his perch. “Good-bye, old chap.”
He shook hands hastily, and left the house, glancing up once at Sam Jenkles’s upper window, and then, without appearing to notice him, taking a side glance at Barney of the black muzzle, who was making a meal off a scrap of hay, with his shoulders lending polish to a public-house board at the corner.
“There’s some little game being played up here,” said Frank to himself. “I’ll have a talk to Barnard.”
A Proposal.
Frank Pratt had no sooner gone than Richard began to stride hastily up and down the little room, to the great endangering of Mrs Fiddison’s furniture. As he neared the window he glanced across, to see Netta sitting there at work, and a faint smile and blush greeted him.