Loman strolled up to where the small boys were sitting.
“Which of you is young Greenfield?” he said.
“I am,” said Stephen, promptly.
“Run with this letter to the post, then, and bring me back some stamps while you are there, and get tea ready for two in my study by half-past six—do you hear?”
And off he went, leaving Stephen gaping at the letter in his hand, and quite bewildered as to the orders about tea.
Master Paul enjoyed his perplexity.
“I suppose you thought you were going to get off fagging. I say, you’ll have to take that letter sharp, or you’ll be late.”
“Where’s the post-office?”
“About a mile down Maltby Road. Look here, as you are going there, get me a pound of raisins, will you?—there’s a good chap. We’ll square up to-night.”
Stephen got up and started on his errands in great disgust.