“I thought you were a match for him,” said Congreve, with an amused smile.
“So I am, but he might take me unawares. He’ll be so mad, you know.”
“I’ll protect you,” said Congreve. “Come along.”
Both boys would have liked to learn whether Harry had been missed at home, and what was thought of his disappearance; but there seemed to be no one to ask, and, for obvious reasons, they did not care to show any curiosity on the subject.
“I’d like to meet Mr. Wilkins,” said Philip. “He boards there, you know, and he might say something about it.”
“Mr. Wilkins is your uncle, isn’t he?”
“He’s a distant relation of ma’s,” said Philip, reluctantly. “We don’t know much about him.”
“I suppose he’s poor?” suggested Congreve, drily.
“Oh, dear, yes! He was a farmer or something out in Illinois. He probably pays a dollar or two a week board at Gilberts’. They’re dreadfully poor, you know. I shouldn’t be surprised if all hands were in the poorhouse before the year is out.”
“Your uncle and all?”