John murmured inarticulate thanks. To see his brother thus energetic in his service moved him beyond expression; if he could not utter what he felt, he showed it legibly in his face; and Alexander read it there, and liked it the better in that dumb delivery.
“But there’s one thing,” said the latter, “cablegrams are dear; and I daresay you remember enough of the governor to guess the state of my finances.”
“The trouble is,” said John, “that all my stamps are in that beastly house.”
“All your what?” asked Alexander.
“Stamps—money,” explained John. “It’s an American expression; I’m afraid I contracted one or two.”
“I have some,” said Flora. “I have a pound-note upstairs.”
“My dear Flora,” returned Alexander, “a pound-note won’t see us very far; and besides, this is my father’s business, and I shall be very much surprised if it isn’t my father who pays for it.”
“I would not apply to him yet; I do not think that can be wise,” objected Flora.
“You have a very imperfect idea of my resources, and none at all of my effrontery,” replied Alexander. “Please observe.”
He put John from his way, chose a stout knife among the supper things, and with surprising quickness broke into his father’s drawer.