Inquiring at the ‘Royal,’ the overseer was told that Mr Potts had left; although, perhaps, if he hastened, he might yet see him, as the train hadn’t started. Sure enough, galloping up to the station and searching along the carriages, he found his man just making himself comfortable in smoking-cap and slippers.
‘Be jakers, mister,’ he gasped breathlessly, ‘the Boss wants to see ye badly! Have ye got anythin’ for him? It’s of a book he was spakin’. Tould me to tell ye that he’d be in himself directly.’
‘Too late! Can’t stop! Time’s up!’ replied Mr Potts. ‘But’—rising to the occasion, and taking the last copy of ‘Do-ree’ out of his portmanteau—‘this [207] ]is it. It’s for Master Reginald’s birthday. Your Boss wouldn’t miss having it for three times the money. Six pounds—quick!’
In a desperate flurry, the overseer ransacked his pockets. No; he could only muster four.
‘All right, guard, wait a minute!’ he yelled as, borrowing the balance, he clutched the book, whilst the train, giving a screech, moved away, with Mr Potts nodding and grinning a friendly farewell.
‘Be kicked now!’ exclaimed the overseer, ‘if that wasn’t a close shave! The Boss oughter think himself lucky, so he ought!’
So, carrying the book carefully under his arm, he jogged Barracaboowards.
Half way he met Mr Morris coming in at full speed.
‘No hurry in loife, sorr!’ cried the overseer, beamingly, and showing ‘Don Quixote.’ ‘I ped six notes for it, an’ had to borrow two. It was just touch an’ go, though, so it was!’