"Sorry, John. Afraid I forgot to countermand it. I had some at Putney."
"At what hour?" inquired the inexorable Mr. Goble.
"Half-past seven, about, with the crew."
"It's eleven the noo. You'll be able for some mair, I doot. Forbye it's a pity to waste good food. Bide you, while I'll get it."
Hughie, who was as wax in the hands of his retainer, presently found himself partaking of a lukewarm collation and opening his letters.
He glanced through the first.
"John!" he called.
Mr. Goble appeared from the bedroom.
"Were you cryin' on me?" he inquired.
"Yes. Did two gentlemen call here at ten?"