“I should have thought something might turn up in London,” persisted Horace.
“Things don’t turn up as we want them,” said Reginald, tartly. “Look here, Horace, you surely don’t suppose I prefer to go to Liverpool to staying here?”
“Of course not,” said Horace, beginning to whistle softly to himself. It was a bad omen, and Mrs Cruden knew it.
“Come,” said she, cheerily, “we must make the best of it. These names, Reg, in the list of directors Mr Medlock gave you, seem all very respectable.”
“Do you know any of them?” asked Reginald. “Mr Medlock thought you might.”
“I know one or two by name,” replied she. “There’s the Bishop of S—, I see, and Major Wakeman, who I suppose is the officer who has been doing so well in India. There’s a Member of Parliament, too, I see. It seems a good set of directors.”
“Of course they aren’t likely all to turn up at board meetings,” said Reginald, with an explanatory air.
“I don’t see myself what business a bishop has with a Select Agency Corporation,” said Horace, determined not to see matters in a favourable light.
“My dear fellow,” said Reginald, trying hard to keep his temper, “I can’t help whether you see it or not. By the way, mother, about the £50 to invest. I think Mr Richmond—”
Mrs Cruden started.