‘We shan’t do anything, we shall be done,’ I said.
‘Well, anyhow, here’s the postman and we shall know our fate,’ put in Freddy running to the door, as footsteps shuffled on the pavement outside. He threw it open, and clutched a packet of letters from the hands of the postman, and then for the first time for many a long day, he fearlessly tore open a long blue envelope, extracting a letter which he dropped on the floor, and a cheque for thirty pounds, which he carefully examined.
We then got into Morgan’s hansom and drove at an alarming speed to the Bank, but to our horror we found the doors closed when we got there, and the grey-haired man, who was sweeping the steps outside, informed us, what we ought to have remembered, that the bank shuts at one o’clock on Thursdays, and it was just striking the hour on Carfax.
‘Gloucester,’ shrieked Freddy, as we bundled into the cab, and shot down the Corn at a fearful rate in the direction of Gluggins. The black clock over the archway pointed to four minutes past as we got out, I clutching the draft, while Freddy waited in the cab, discussing the prospects of the National with Morgan through the trap in the roof.
The J.P. received us with a frown, and remarked coldly, ‘Punctuality is the politeness of princes, Mr. Arlington.’
‘I am afraid we put our trust in postmen, not princes,’ replied Reggie; ‘and ours was late this morning; however, if you wouldn’t mind changing this cheque, sir, we’re ready to pay you.’
‘Really, sir, your conduct in this matter is most surprising,’ said the Proctor; ‘first you come here unpunctually, and now you offer me a large cheque on behalf of yourself and your companions, whom I am afraid are no better than you are.’
‘But the bank is closed,’ put in Reggie.
‘How do you mean the bank is closed, Mr. Arlington?’
‘It’s Thursday, sir,’ chimed in the Pilot.