“Shut up like a jail, is it?” quoth Duffham. “I have just had a note from Stockhausen, asking me to call there. His throat’s troubling him again, he says: wants me to give him something that will cure him by to-morrow.”
I had turned with the doctor, and went walking with him up the garden, listening to what he said. But I meant to leave him when we reached the door. He began trying it. It was fastened inside.
“I dare say you can come in and see Hyde, Johnny. What do you want with him?”
“Not much; only to wish him good luck.”
“Is your master afraid of thieves that he bolts his doors?” cried Duffham to old Preen when she let us in.
“’Twas me fastened it, sir; not master,” was her reply. “That gipsy wretch have been about yesterday and to-day, wanting to get in. I’ve got my silver about, and don’t want it stolen. Mr. Hyde’s mother and Massock have been here to dinner; they’ve not long gone.”
Decanters and fruit stood on the table before Hyde. He started up to shake hands, appearing very much elated. Duffham, more experienced than I, saw that he had been taking quite enough wine.
“So you have had your stepfather here!” was one of the doctor’s first remarks. “Been making up the quarrel, I suppose.”
“He came of his own accord; I didn’t invite him,” said Hyde, laughing. “My mother wrote me word that they were coming—to give me their good wishes for the future.”
“Just what Johnny Ludlow here says he wants to give,” said Duffham: though I didn’t see that he need have brought my words up, and made a fellow feel shy.