“Very good, sir, I’ll tell him,” said the porter with a grin.
Meanwhile Percy had opened the letter and caught sight of the signature.
He uttered a whistle of amazement.
“Hullo!” he cried, “it’s from Stratton! Whatever—Oh, I say, Bob, it doesn’t matter about that message; do you hear!”
“Won’t be no trouble, sir,” said the porter.
“If I want to give it I’ll do it myself,” said Percy.
“Whatever’s it about?” said his friends.
“Dear Wheatfield minor,”—(cheek!) read Percy, “Mrs Stratton and I will be glad to see you and three or four of your friends to tea this evening at six. I will arrange with Mr Forder to give you exeats from preparation.”
“Humph!” grunted Percy—“rather civil—I hear he gives rather good grub. I vote we go.”
“May as well. It gets us off preparation too,” said Cash.