“Just the thing. Only let there be plenty of it. I’ve got a famous appetite.”
Brandon was conducted upstairs to a back room on the second floor, where the squire suggested that he might as well fill up a portion of the time till lunch by brushing his clothes, and performing ablutions which appeared to be needful. He then went downstairs to give the necessary directions to Mrs. Murray.
“Broil some beefsteak and plenty of it,” said the squire. “You may boil two or three eggs also, and send up a loaf of bread and some butter.”
“Where shall I set the table?” asked Mrs. Murray.
“Never mind about a table. You can carry all up on a waiter to the back chamber when ready.”
Seeing that the house-keeper looked surprised, he added, in rather an embarrassed way:—
“The fact is, the man was a school-mate of mine, who hasn’t turned out very well. Out of pity, I am going to help him a little, but don’t care about his being seen in my house.”
This seemed plausible enough, particularly when Mrs. Murray saw Brandon, who certainly looked very much like one who had not turned out very well. The rapid manner in which the abundant meal melted away under his vigorous attacks was certainly a tribute to the culinary skill of the house-keeper, who was led to form a more favorable estimate of the shabby stranger in consequence.
In a little more than half an hour Squire Turner was on his way to Wrexham, Brandon occupying a back seat. They reached the depot ten minutes before the train arrived, so that there was ample time to buy a ticket.