“Well, that don’t surprise me,” returned Freddy. “I rather thought it was a hum. Uncle Matthew pretty stout?”
“No, he is not! Dr. Fenwick said he could be cured of his stomach trouble by magnetism and warm ale, but it only did him a great deal of harm. At least, he said it did, and also that we were all in a plot to kill him.”
“Gout bad too?” enquired Mr. Standen anxiously.
“ Very bad!”
“You know, I think I made a mistake to come,” confided Mr. Standen. “Not at all sure I won’t rack up for the night here, and go back to London in the morning. The thing is, the old gentleman don’t like me above half, and if his gout’s plaguing him I’d as lief not meet him. Besides, he won’t let me bring my man, and I find it devilish awkward! It ain’t my neckcloths, of course: never let Icklesham do more than hand ’em to me! It’s my boots. The last time I stayed here the fellow who cleaned ’em left a dashed great thumb-mark on one of them! I’m not bamming, Kitty! Gave me a nasty turn, I can tell you.”
“You might as well go back to London now,” said Kitty. “You made a great mistake to come! In fact, when I think of your circumstances I am quite shocked that you should have done so!”
“That’s all very well,” objected Mr. Standen, “but I don’t like travelling at night. Besides, this ain’t a posting-house, and I need a change. Yes, and now I come to think of it, what have my circumstances to say to anything?”
“You are as rich as—as—I can’t remember the name!” said Miss Charing crossly.
“I expect you mean Golden Ball,” said Freddy. “And I ain’t.”
“No, I do not! I mean somebody out of history—at least, I think he was, because when you wish to signify that a person is excessively wealthy you say he is as rich as—as him!”