Mr. Crewe read over the agreement carefully, as a business man should, before putting his signature to it. And then the senator, with renewed invitations for Mr. Crewe to call on him when he came to Newcastle, took his departure. Afterwards Mr. Crewe remained so long in reflection that his man Waters became alarmed, and sought him out and interrupted his revery.
The next morning Mrs. Pomfret, who was merely “driving by” with her daughter Alice and Beatrice Chillingham, spied Mr. Crewe walking about among the young trees he was growing near the road, and occasionally tapping them with his stout stick. She poked her coachman in the back and cried:—“Humphrey, you're such an important man now that I despair of ever seeing you again. What was the matter last night?”
“A politician from Newcastle,” answered Mr. Crewe, continuing to tap the trees, and without so much as a glance at Alice.
“Well, if you're as important as this before you're elected, I can't think what it will be afterwards,” Mrs. Pomfret lamented. “Poor dear Humphrey is so conscientious. When can you come, Humphrey?”
“Don't know,” said Mr. Crewe; “I'll try to come tonight, but I may be stopped again. Here's Waters now.”
The three people in Mrs. Pomfret's victoria were considerably impressed to see the dignified Waters hurrying down the slope from the house towards them. Mr. Crewe continued to tap the trees, but drew a little nearer the carriage.
“If you please, sir,” said Waters, “there's a telephone call for you from Newcastle. It's urgent, sir.”
“Who is it?”
“They won't give their names, sir.”
“All right,” said Mr. Crewe, and with a grin which spoke volumes for the manner in which he was harassed he started towards the house—in no great hurry, however. Reaching the instrument, and saying “Hello” in his usually gracious manner, he was greeted by a voice with a decided Hibernian-American accent.