“I thought it would be well,” began Railsford, still dallying with the poker—“won’t you bring your chair in nearer, Stafford?”
Stafford manoeuvred his chair in between Ainger and Felgate.
“I thought it would not be a bad thing—haven’t you a chair, Barnworth? dear me! I’ll get one out of the bedroom!”
And in his flurry he went off, poker in hand, to the cubicle.
“What a day we’re having!” murmured Barnworth.
Stafford giggled just as Railsford re-entered. It was awkward, and gave the new master a very unfavourable impression of the most harmless boy in his house.
“Now,” said he, beginning on a new tack, “I am anxious to hear from you something about the state of the house. You’re my police, you know,” he added with a friendly smile.
Stafford was the only one who smiled in response, and then ensued a dead silence.
“What do you think, Ainger? Do things seem pretty right?”
“Yes,” said Ainger laconically.