"Oh, Father, I am so sorry!"
"Ahem! My brother, the late baronet, is—er—no more."
"You mean Uncle Isaac is dead?"
"Yes!"
"What was the matter? When did you hear?"
"A cablegram states he was killed in a recent battle," and Mr. Pore went on making neat piles on the counter with cans of salmon. I wanted to shake him for more news that I felt sure he had.
Annie took off her hat and tied on an apron ready to help in the arduous task of taking stock. Tweedles and Mary and I stood in the doorway as dumb as fish. Why should a man whose brother had recently died in England feel a necessity of taking stock in a country store? It was too much for us. Suddenly it flashed through my brain that maybe Mr. Pore was going to England. His brother, Sir Isaac Pore, had a son, so Annie had told me, who was, of course, in line for the title.
Mr. Pore finished with the salmon and then spoke with his usual pomposity: "The message also states that my brother's only son has met with an untimely death in the Dardanelles."
Annie dropped a box of soap and stood looking with big eyes at her father.
"I find it necessary that we go to England, and before we go, I deem it advisable to make an inventory of our goods and chattels."