"Revered uncle, I kiss your hands!" And he proceeded to do so.
"God ha' mercy, it's Philip!" gasped Tom. "I never expected you for another week, lad!"
Philip tossed his hat and gloves on to the table and wriggled out of his cloak.
"I am de trop, no?"
"Never in your life!" Tom assured him. "Stand up, child, and let me look at you!" Then, as Philip clicked his heels together and faced him, laughing, his eyes widened, and his lips formed a soundless whistle. "By the Lord Harry, Philip, it's marvellous! How could you do it in six months——!"
Philip rustled over to the fire and stooped, warming his hands.
"Fog, cold, damp! Brrh! The unspeakable climate! Tom, it is permitted that I stay with you until I find an abode?"
With difficulty his uncle withdrew his gape from Philip's claret-coloured coat of fine cloth, laced with gold.
"Can you ask? Stay as long as you will, lad, you're a joy to behold!"
"Merci du compliment!" smiled Philip. "You perhaps admire the mixture of claret and biscuit as I wear it?"