'I don't mean that kind of talk. Did he talk business, eh?' inquired Mr Clay.
'Oh dear no; he never does to me,' she answered.
'Not been croaking, has he?' the millionaire asked with hidden anxiety.
This time it was George who spoke, inquiring, 'Is there anything to croak about, then?'
'I want an answer to my question, and, by gad, I'll have it!' exclaimed his father, bringing his fist down on the table with a crash.
'No; he was very cheerful, as he always is. And now, sir, perhaps you will be good enough to answer my question,' said George, who spoke very quietly but decidedly.
Sarah gave her brother an approving look.
'What question? Oh, whether there's anything to croak about? Not in my opinion; but your uncle—— But there, it's no good taking any notice of him. He'd build a palace for his hands to work in and live in, and stop in that old mill all his life, would Bill Howroyd,' replied Mr Clay; and, frowning heavily, the millionaire got up from the table.
'I say, mother, would you mind if I went for a week's shooting to Scotland?' inquired her son.
'No, dearie; no. You go; it'll do you good. I suppose it's some o' your college friends as 'ave asked you? Yes, you go; there's nothin' for you to do 'ere,' said the fond mother.