Mrs. Bradshaw sighed. “It's a pity you are so far apart,” she said.
“It's not for long,” said Mr. Kemp. “I'm just going back for about a year to wind up things out there, and then I'm coming back to leave my old bones over here. George has very kindly offered to let me live with him.”
“He won't suffer for it, I'll be bound,” said Mrs. Bradshaw, archly.
“So far as money goes he won't,” said the old man. “Not that that would make any difference to George.”
“It would be the same to me if you hadn't got a farthing,” said Mr. Wright, promptly.
Mr. Kemp, somewhat affected, shook hands with him, and leaning back in the most comfortable chair in the room, described his life and struggles in New Zealand. Hard work, teetotalism, and the simple life combined appeared to be responsible for a fortune which he affected to be too old to enjoy. Misunderstandings of a painful nature were avoided by a timely admission that under medical advice he was now taking a fair amount of stimulant.
“Mind,” he said, as he walked home with the elated George, “it's your game, not mine, and it's sure to come a bit expensive. I can't be a rich uncle without spending a bit. 'Ow much did you say you'd got in the bank?”
“We must be as careful as we can,” said Mr. Wright, hastily. “One thing is they can't leave the shop to go out much. It's a very good little business, and it ought to be all right for me and Bella one of these days, eh?”