They were both dressed in tweed travelling costumes, and looked sunburnt, as though they had just returned from a walking-tour. The elder was a short wiry man, with a shrewd face and quizzical eyes; and he asked in sharp clipping voice 220 that was not free from accent, for the last number of the local paper, containing lists of inhabitants, visitors, etc.
Meanwhile, the younger man walked about the shop, whistling softly to himself, as though he had a fund of cheerfulness on hand which must find vent somewhere. When he came opposite Archie, he took a brief survey of him in a careless, good-humored fashion, and then turned on his heel, bestowing a very cursory glance on Miss Masham, who stood shaking her black ringlets after the fashion of shopwomen, and waiting to know the gentleman’s pleasure.
No one would have called this young man very good-looking, unless such a one had a secret predilection for decidedly reddish hair and a sandy moustache; but there was an air of bonhommie, of frank kindness, of boyish fun and pleasantry, that attracted even strangers, and Archie looked after him with considerable interest.
“Oxford cut, father and son: father looks rather a queer customer,” thought Archie to himself.
“Dick, come here!—why, where is that fellow?” suddenly exclaimed the elder man, beginning to put on his eye-glasses very nervously.
“Coming, father. All right: what is it?” returned the imperturbable Dick. He was still whistling “Twickenham Ferry” under his breath, as he came to the counter and leaned with both elbows upon it.
“Good gracious, boy, what does this mean?” went on the other, in an irritable perturbed voice; and he read a short advertisement, written in a neat lady-like hand: “Dressmaking undertaken. Terms moderate, and all orders promptly executed. Apply to—the Misses Challoner, the Friary, Braidwood Road. Ladies waited upon at their own residences’. What the”—he was about to add a stronger term, but, in deference to Miss Milner, substituted—“dickens does this mean, Dick?”
The young man’s reply was to snatch the paper out of his father’s hand, and study it intently, with his elbows still on the counter, and the last bar of “Twickenham Ferry” died away uncompleted on his lips; and if any one could have seen his face, they would have remarked a curious redness spreading to his forehead.
“Nan’s handwriting, by Jove!” he muttered, but still inaudibly; and then he stared at the paper, and his face grew redder.
“Well, Dick, can’t you answer? What does this piece of tomfoolery mean—‘dressmaking undertaken—ladies waited upon at their own residences’? Can there be two families of Challoner and two Friaries? and why don’t you speak and say something?”