On the following morning we dropped anchor in the Gluggins porch at 9.30, and asked for the J.P.’s rooms, which we found in the well-known row of cottages on the left of the garden, with three bull-dogs guarding the door. When our names had been taken, Reggie went in, and came out smiling after a short interview.
‘Told me to let him have it by one o’clock,’ muttered Reggie, as the Pilot passed in. ‘I said I expected a remittance from my aunt.’
In a moment the Pilot also returned looking as solemn as usual. ‘He got rather angry when I mentioned a remittance from my aunt, but let me off till one o’clock,’ he remarked.
When I was shown in, I found the J.P., a round and pompous little man, robed and banded, standing by the table.
‘I suppose, Mr. Cochrane,’ he began at once, ‘that you, like the other two gentlemen whom I have just seen, are expecting a remittance from your aunt.’
‘No, sir,’ I replied meekly, ‘my great uncle always attends to these matters, but I am certainly expecting a remittance from him.’
This soft answer, instead of turning away the dignitary’s wrath, caused him to grow purple in the face, but he controlled his temper very creditably and merely said,
‘Very well, Mr. Cochrane, I give you till one o’clock, but if the twenty shillings are not in my hands by that time I shall communicate with your Provost and make matters unpleasant for you, er—good morning.’
I joined the other two, and Reggie returned with me to breakfast, but the Pilot, who had to attend the Dean’s lecture at ten, put off his meal till eleven.
As we made our way through the buttered eggs it became more and more clear that Reggie had a grievance, and at last it came out.