“That’s always a good rule,” agreed Mrs. Postwhistle, “for those to whom it’s possible.”
“Anyhow,” said Peter, “one night can’t do any harm. To-morrow we can think what’s to be done.”
“To-morrow” had always been Peter’s lucky day. At the mere mention of the magic date his spirits invariably rose. He now turned upon Tommy a countenance from which all hesitation was banished.
“Very well, Tommy,” said Mr. Peter Hope, “you can sleep here to-night. Go with Mrs. Postwhistle, and she’ll show you your room.”
The black eyes shone.
“You’re going to give me a trial?”
“We’ll talk about all that to-morrow.” The black eyes clouded.
“Look here. I tell you straight, it ain’t no good.”
“What do you mean? What isn’t any good?” demanded Peter.
“You’ll want to send me to prison.”