"Why—what in the world have you been up to, boy?" he enquired, regarding Bellew with no very friendly eye. "Your Aunt is worrying herself ill on your account,—what have you been doing with yourself all day?"
Again Bellew felt the small fingers tighten round his, and the small figure shrink a little closer to him, as Small Porges answered,
"I've been with Uncle Porges, Mr. Cassilis."
"With whom?" demanded Mr. Cassilis, more sharply.
"With his Uncle Porges, sir," Bellew rejoined, "a trustworthy person, and very much at your service."
Mr. Cassilis stared, his hand began to stroke and caress his small, black moustache, and he viewed Bellew from his dusty boots up to the crown of his dusty hat, and down again, with supercilious eyes.
"Uncle?" he repeated incredulously.
"Porges," nodded Bellew.
"I wasn't aware," began Mr. Cassilis, "that—er—George was so very fortunate—"
"Baptismal name—George," continued Bellew, "lately of New York,
Newport, and—er—other places in America, U.S.A., at present of
Nowhere-in-Particular."