“Well, Lucinda,” said her husband, shrugging his shoulders, “you had better undertake the management of the affair. I am very busy, and can’t spare the necessary time.”
“I will!” said Mrs. Ross, with alacrity. “I will call on the boy’s mother, and also on Mr. Mead.”
“Don’t be too extreme, Lucinda. Remember, it isn’t a hanging matter.”
“I am not so sure but it ought to be. My poor child might have broken his neck. Oh, it makes my blood run cold when I think that he might be lying lifeless before me at this moment.”
“Don’t say such things, mother,” said Philip, nervously, unpleasantly affected by the picture his mother had drawn.
“I can’t help saying it, for it might have happened.”
“Where are you going to first, mother?” asked Philip.
“I will go first and call on Widow Gilbert. I consider her responsible, for if she had brought up the boy better this would never have happened.”
“May I go with you?”
“No; I would rather go alone.”