Dear Father,—Please come down here as soon as you can. We’re in a regular row. I’m awfully afraid fifty pounds will not quite cover it.
Please try and come by the next train as the case comes on on Saturday, and there’s not much time. We saw the magistrate yesterday, and made a clean breast. I hope they won’t transport us. He was very jolly helping us find the scent, and gave us a stunning lunch. We ran the big hunt right through, and are pretty sure to get our names on the “Sociables” list. I wish you and mother could have seen the view on the top of Welkin Beacon. The awkward thing is that Tom White may get transported instead of us, and it would be jolly if you could come and get him off. Coote wasn’t in it, but he’s backing us up. How is Tike? I hope they wash him regularly. If I’m not transported, I shall be home in eight weeks and three days and will take him out for walks.
Love to mother, in which all join,—Your affectionate son, Basil.
P.S.—If you come, don’t take Fegan’s cab—he’s a cheat. Old White will drive you cheap. He’s Tom’s father. Georgie sends his love.
The reader may imagine, if he can, the consternation with which Mr and Mrs Richardson read this loving epistle at breakfast on the Friday morning following the great hunt.
They gazed at one another with countenances full of horror and terror, like people suddenly brought face to face with a great calamity. At length Mr Richardson said:—
“Where’s the Bradshaw, Jane?”
“Oh, the train goes in half an hour. You have just time to catch it. Do go quickly. My poor, poor boy!”
The father groaned; and in another five minutes he was on his way to the station.
That morning, while school was in full swing, the porter entered the third class room with a telegram in his hand, which he took straight to the master.
“Richardson,” said the master, “this is for you.”
Dick, who was at the moment engaged in drawing a circle on his Euclid cover with a pencil and a piece of string, much to the admiration of his neighbours, jumped up as if he had been shot, and with perturbed face went up to receive the missive.
He tore it open, and, as he glanced at its contents, his anxious face relaxed into a complacent grin.