“Just as far as the Bank,” said the Pater. “So I hear you went to the Clement-Pells’ after all, Brandon.”
“I looked in to see what it was like,” said old Brandon, giving me a moment’s hard stare: as much as to recall to my mind what had really taken him there.
“It was a dashing affair, I hear.”
“Rather too much so for me,” cried Mr. Brandon drily. “Where’s your son, sir?”
“Oh, he’s gone home with the Whitneys’ young folk. How hot it is to-day!”
“Ay. Too hot to stand in it long. Drive on, Johnny.”
The Squire went in to the Bank alone, leaving me with the carriage. He banked with the Old Bank at Worcester; but it was a convenience to have some little money nearer in case of need, and he had recently opened a small account at Alcester. Upon which Clement-Pell had said he might as well have opened it with him, at his Church Dykely branch. But the Squire explained that he had as good as promised the Alcester people, years ago, that if he did open an account nearer than Worcester it should be with them. He came out, looking rather glum, stuffing some notes into his pocket-book.
“Turn the pony round, Johnny,” said he. “We’ll go back. It’s too hot to stay out to-day.”
“Yes, sir. Is anything the matter?”
“Anything the matter! No. Why do you ask?”