“It is no use, Arthur,” Anna Carroll said. “We cannot get a thing for this man's dinner, and not only to-day, but to-morrow and while he stays, unless we pay cash.”
Carroll turned to the coachman, who had just come alongside. “Martin,” he said, “you will have to drive to New Sanderson before dinner. We cannot get the meat which Mrs. Carroll wishes, and you will have to drive over there. Go to that large market on Main Street and tell them that I want the best cut of porterhouse with the tenderloin that he has. Tell him it is for Captain Carroll of Banbridge. And I want you to get also a roast of lamb for to-morrow.”
“Yes, sir,” said the coachman. He gathered up the lines, but sat looking hesitatingly at his employer.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Carroll. “Drive as fast as you can. We are late as it is.”
“Shall I pay, sir?” asked the man, timidly, in a low voice.
Carroll took out his pocket-book, then replaced it. “No, not to-night,” he said, easily. “Tell him it is for Captain Carroll of Banbridge.”
The man still looked doubtful and a trifle alarmed, but he touched his hat and drove out of the grounds. Carroll turned and saw his wife and sister staring at him.
“Oh, Arthur, dear, do you think the butcher will let him have it?” whispered Mrs. Carroll.
“Yes, honey,” said Carroll.
“If he shouldn't—”