“There was something sensitive about him,” said Thomas.
Mr. Mergleson sat with his arms loosely thrown out over the table.
“What we got to do is to tell someone,” he said, “I don’t see ’ow I can put off telling ’er ladyship—after to-morrow morning. And then—’eaven ’elp us!”
“’Course I got to tell my missis,” said Mr. Darling, and poured in a preoccupied way, some running over.
“We’ll go through them passages again now before we go to bed,” said Mr. Mergleson, “far as we can. But there’s ’oles and chinks on’y a boy could get through.”
“I got to tell the missis,” said Mr. Darling. “That’s what’s worrying me....”
As the evening wore on there was a tendency on the part of Mr. Darling to make this the refrain of his discourse. He sought advice. “’Ow’d you tell the missis?” he asked Mr. Mergleson, and emptied a glass to control his impatience before Mr. Mergleson replied.
“I shall tell ’er ladyship, just simply, the fact. I shall say, your ladyship, here’s my boy gone and we don’t know where. And as she arsts me questions so shall I give particulars.”
Mr. Darling reflected and then shook his head slowly.
“’Ow’d ju tell the missis?” he asked Thomas.