“‘A sweet disorder in the dress,’ eh?—as Herrick puts it,” said Uncle Robert. “I can send a wire without the aid of a collar.”
With that he departed.
“What a brick Uncle Robert is!” commented Philip, as the bulky form disappeared, “and I am ashamed of my intolerance, mother! Do you know, he is giving me a hundred pounds for furnishing?”
“I am not surprised, Philip, at any generous act from your uncle. He will take Dan completely under his wing, you will see, and will commission all our portraits, I expect, as soon as Dan’s eyes are well.”
“Well, mother, Dan is a splendid fellow, and a handsome one, too; and, mark my word, some old lady whose portrait he paints will one day leave him a fortune.”
“I only hope so,” smiled the mother. “And now, I suppose you will want to be off on your shopping expedition. By the way, there is a lovely old oak dresser for sale in a shop in High Street—in the Old Town, you know. The shop is not far from St. Clement’s Church—a secondhand shop, of course. You will know it by a big horse painted up on the side. You might look at the dresser. Also, they have a dear old grandfather clock, and you said you wanted one. I should like to go with you to see the bungalow.”
“So you shall, mother,” said Philip, rising. “But let me get it in order first.”
Mrs. Barrimore’s tender mouth quivered. She so much wanted to do the “putting in order” herself for her boy. But he had his own ideas, and she tactfully said nothing of her disappointment.
Philip hurried off and caught a tram to the Memorial, from the top of which he beheld Uncle Robert coming back, puffing and blowing, from the General Post Office. His face was red and beaming from pleasant thoughts.
In Robertson Street Philip encountered Phyllis, looking like a flower in her white frock and blue ribbons.