Great was the content of the little fellow as he left Galloway House with his hand on the strong arm of his tutor. Greater still were his surprise and content when, as soon as the streets were past, Jeffreys took him up on his back and carried him the rest of the way to Ash Cottage.
“Thanks, awfully, old Jeff,” said the boy, as they parted at the gate of the cottage. “What makes you so kind to Freddy and me?”
“I’m not good at riddles, Teddy. Good-night,” and he went.
Jonah, as he was not surprised to find, was expecting him, in a state of high ferment. Jeffreys would fain have avoided an interview. For he was constantly discovering that he was still far from sure of himself. That afternoon his passion had been within an ace of mastering him; and at any time he dreaded something might happen which would undo all the penance of those last six months. He therefore resolved wisely in the present instance to avoid altercation as far as possible.
“Well, sir, and what have you got to say for yourself? Where have you been?” demanded Jonah, in tones of lofty bitterness.
“I have just taken Rosher home. After standing four hours on the form he wasn’t fit to walk himself.”
“Oh!” snorted Jonah, nearly bursting with indignation; “and pray how—”
“Excuse me, Trimble. If you and Mrs Trimble wish me to leave, I’ll do so. If not, don’t talk to me. I don’t want it.”
Poor Jonah nearly had a fit. He, head man of Galloway House, knowing what he did, to be spoken to like this by a stuck-up—murderer!
He had prepared a scene, and had counted on coming to an understanding then and there. And lo and behold! before he had well opened his mouth, he had been ordered to shut it by the very being whom he had at his mercy. It passed Jonah’s comprehension.