‘It’s a fair cropper!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could ha’ trusted that Bransby like the Bank of England. I allus understood he were doing uncommon well.’
‘So he were,’ answered Mr. Pepperdine, ‘uncommon well—out of fools like me.’
‘I hope,’ said Mr. Trippett, mentioning the subject with some shyness, ‘I hope the gals’ money isn’t lost, an’ all?’
‘What, Keziah and Judith? Nay, nay,’ replied Mr. Pepperdine. ‘It isn’t. What bit they have—matter of five hundred pound each, may be—is safe enough.’
‘Nor the lad’s, either,’ said Mr. Trippett.
‘The lad’s?’ said Mr. Pepperdine questioningly. ‘Oh, Lucian? Oh—ay—of course, he’s all right.’
Mr. Trippett went over to the sideboard, produced the whisky decanter, mixed himself a glass, lighted his pipe, and proceeded to think hard.
‘Well,’ he said, after some time, ‘I know what I should do if I were i’ your case, Simpson. I should go to his lordship and tell him all about it.’
Mr. Pepperdine started and looked surprised.
‘I’ve never asked a favour of him yet,’ he said. ‘I don’t know——’