What particular little “childer” Mr Cripps senior and his son were specially interested in no one knew, for neither of them was blessed with any. However, it was one of old Mr Cripps’s heart-moving phrases, and no one was rude enough to ask questions.
Stephen did not, on the present occasion, feel moved to respond to the old man’s lament, and Cripps junior, with more adroitness than filial affection, hustled the old gentleman out of the door.
“Never mind him,” said he to Stephen. “He’s a silly old man, and always pretends he’s starvin’. If you believe me, he’s a thousand pounds stowed away somewheres. I on’y wish,” added he, with a sigh, “he’d give me a taste of it, for its ’ard, up-’ill work makin’ ends meet, particular when a man’s deceived by parties. No matter. I’ll pull through; you see!”
Stephen once more did not feel called upon to pursue this line of conversation, and therefore changed the subject.
“Oh, Mr Cripps, how much is that bat?”
“Bat! Bless me if I hadn’t nearly forgot all about it. Ain’t it a beauty, now?”
“Yes, pretty well,” said Stephen, whose friends had one and all abused the bat, and who was himself a little disappointed in his expectations.
“Pretty well! I like that. You must be a funny cricketer, young gentleman, to call that bat only pretty well. I suppose you want me to take that back, too?” and here Mr Cripps looked very fierce.
“Oh, no,” said Stephen, hurriedly. “I only want to know what I am to pay for it.”
“Oh, come now, we needn’t mind about that. That’ll keep, you know. As if I wanted the money. Ha, ha!”