“Only I’ve come after it,” faltered I.
“Have you, though? And who told you to do that, I’d like to know?”
“My uncle—that is I had a letter—” but here a general laugh interrupted my confession, and I felt very foolish indeed.
“So you’ve got an uncle, have you? Do you ever lend him your gold watch?”
This witticism was lost on me. I didn’t see the connection between my uncle borrowing my gold watch (if I had had one), and the situation at Messrs Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s. But it would never do to make myself disagreeable.
“I’ve not got a gold watch, or a silver one either,” I said.
This seemed to occasion fresh merriment among my catechist and his fellows.
“Why don’t you say who told you to come?” demanded the clerk.
“I did say,” mildly replied I. “I got a letter.”
“What’s that to do with it? I got a letter to-day, didn’t I, Wallop, to tell me my washerwoman had changed her address. But that’s no reason for my coming here.”