“Then I say, 'How 'ave you left 'em all in Australia?' and wink at him,” said the ready Mr. Spriggs.
“And s'pose you're not here?” objected his wife.
“Then you say it and wink at him,” was the reply. “No; I know you can't,” he added, hastily, as Mrs. Spriggs raised another objection; “you've been too well brought up. Still, you can try.”
It was a slight comfort to Mrs. Spriggs that Mr. Augustus Price did, after all, choose a convenient time for his reappearance. A faint knock sounded on the door two days afterwards as she sat at tea with her husband, and an anxious face with somewhat furtive eyes was thrust into the room.
“Emma!” said a mournful voice, as the upper part of the intruder's body followed the face.
“Gussie!” said Mrs. Spriggs, rising in disorder.
Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, closing the door with extraordinary care, passed the cuff of his coat across his eyes and surveyed them tenderly.
“I've come home to die,” he said, slowly, and, tottering across the room, embraced his sister with much unction.
“What are you going to die of?” inquired Mr. Spriggs, reluctantly accepting the extended hand.
“Broken 'art, George,” replied his brother-in-law, sinking into a chair.