He slept late next morning, for William had given orders that he was not to be disturbed. He came downstairs feeling a little ashamed of himself. If this was his new start in life, it was anything but an energetic beginning.
William was on the look-out for him, and fetched the bacon and eggs from the kitchen himself.
"We've had our breakfast," he explained. "You won't mind, I hope. We knew you'd be very tired, so we kept the house quiet. I hope you've had a good night, and are feeling all the better. Now I must leave you. We're busy getting out the country orders. You can help yourself, I know." And he disappeared through the frosted glass door into the shop.
He came back half an hour later, just as Ralph was finishing his breakfast, with a telegram in his hand.
"I hope there ain't no bad news," he said, handing Ralph the brick-coloured envelope.
Ralph tore it open in a moment, and his face grew ashen.
He did not speak for several seconds, but continued to stare with unblinking eyes at the pencilled words.
"Is it bad news?" William questioned at length, unable to restrain his curiosity and his anxiety any longer.
Ralph raised his eyes and looked at him.
"Mother's dead," he answered, in a whisper; and then the telegram slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.