"Well, I'll ring you up again when the next message comes through," he said.
But to Bulmer, David said savagely:
"Wot's bitten Coke? 'E must 'ave gone stark, starin' mad."
"Iris is alive!" murmured Bulmer.
"Nice mess she med of things w'en she slung 'er 'ook from Linden 'Ouse," grunted her uncle.
"I don't blame 'er. She meant no 'arm. She's on'y a bit of a lass, w'en all is said an' done. Mebbe it's my fault, or yours, or the fault of both of us. An' now, David, I'll tell you wot I 'ad in me mind in comin' 'ere this morning. You're hard up. You don't know where to turn for a penny. If you're agreeable, I'll put a trustworthy man in this office an' give 'im full powers to pull your affairs straight. Mind you, I'm doin' this for Iris, not for you. An' now that we know wot's 'appening in South America, you an' I will go out there and look into things. A mail steamer will take us there in sixteen days, an' before we sail we can work the cables a bit so as to stop Iris from startin' for 'ome before we arrive. The trip will do us good, an' we'll be away from the gossip of Bootle. Are you game? Well, gimme your 'and on it."
