“My dear boy,” said Mr Armstrong, “if we are to get all the things properly cleared and labelled and sent off to Maxfield, we shall have no time for anything else. If the way you stick to your lessons is anything like the way you stick to this task, I don’t envy your tutor.”
This covert threat at once reduced Tom to a sense of discipline, and he made a gallant effort to secure Mr Armstrong’s good opinion.
The tutor was right. It was well on in the afternoon when they had the baggage finally disposed of, and were free to follow to the hotel.
Here they found, instead of the party they expected, a hurriedly scrawled line from Roger.
“Dear Armstrong,—
“Oliphant has taken it into his head to go down to Maxfield at once by the two train. So we are starting. I’m sorry he can’t wait, so as all to go together. If you are back in time to come by the evening train, do come. If not, first train in the morning.
“Yours ever,
“R.I.”
It was too late to get a train that day; so Mr Armstrong, much disgusted, had to make up his mind to remain. Tom, on the contrary, was delighted, and proposed twenty different plans for spending the evening, which finally resolved themselves into the coveted visit to Christy’s Minstrels.
The tutor, in no very festive humour, allowed himself to be overborne by the eagerness of his young companion, and found himself in due time jammed into a seat in a very hot hall, listening to the very miscellaneous performance of the coloured gentlemen who “never perform out of London.”