“Oh yes. Papa has taken twelve tickets. A great many people are coming in to go with us.”
“I shall go also,” said Tom decidedly. And at that the roses came again.
“What a large parcel you are carrying!”
Tom held the brown-paper parcel further out at the remark.
“They are my goods and chattels,” said he. “Things that I had at the office. I have left it, Emma.”
“Left the office!” she repeated, looking as though she did not understand. “You don’t mean really left it?—left it for good?”
“I have left it for good, Emma. Valentine——”
“Here’s papa,” interrupted Emma, as a stout, elderly gentleman with iron-grey hair turned out of the stationer’s; neither of them having the least idea he was there.
“Is it you, Tom Chandler?” cried Mr. Paul.
“Yes, it is, sir.”