“Well, I can’t stay longer now; I’m late already,” said Mr. Preen. “Good morning, Stephenson.” And away he drove with a dash.
Oliver was waiting in College Street, standing near the Hare and Hounds Inn. Mr. Preen pulled up.
“So you did not chose to come on!” he said.
“Well, I—I thought there’d be hardly time, and I might miss you; I went to get my hair cut,” replied Oliver, as he settled himself in his place beside his father.
Mr. Preen drove on in silence until they were opposite the Commandery gates in the lower part of Sidbury. Then he spoke again.
“What made you drive through Friar Street on Saturday last, instead of going the direct way?”
“Through—Friar Street?” stammered Oliver.
“Through Friar Street, instead of High Street,” repeated Mr. Preen, in a sharp, passionate accent.
“Oh, I remember. High Street is so crowded on a market day; the back streets are quiet,” said Oliver, as if he had a lump in his throat, and could not make his voice heard.