“Ah! Have you been long in England?”
“Time to run to Helmstone, and on here. You’ve been lucky in business, I hear.”
“Thank you; as things go. Do you think of remaining in England?”
“I’ve got to settle about a glass I broke last night.”
“Ah! I have heard of it. Yes, I fear there will have to be a settlement.”
“I shall pay half of the damage. You’ll have to stump up your part.”
Van Diemen smiled roguishly.
“We must discuss that,” said Tinman, smiling too, as a patient in bed may smile at a doctor’s joke; for he was, as Crickledon had said of him, no fool on practical points, and Van Diemen’s mention of the half-payment reassured him as to his old friend’s position in the world, and softly thawed him. “Will you dine with me to-day?”
“I don’t mind if I do. I’ve a girl. You remember little Netty? She’s walking out on the beach with a young fellow named Fellingham, whose acquaintance we made on the voyage, and has n’t left us long to ourselves. Will you have her as well? And I suppose you must ask him. He’s a newspaper man; been round the world; seen a lot.”
Tinman hesitated. An electrical idea of putting sherry at fifteen shillings per dozen on his table instead of the ceremonial wine at twenty-five shillings, assisted him to say hospitably, “Oh! ah! yes; any friend of yours.”