Part 28 (1/2)

”Never mind; make the best of him.”

”Mr Van Heldre is coming, sir,” said Harry coldly, as he re-entered the office.

”Bah! I didn't tell you to bring him here. I want to go in there.”

As Luke Vine spoke, he rose and moved to the door.

”Be a good boy,” he said, turning with a peculiar smile at his nephew.

”I dare say you'll get on.”

”Oh!” muttered Harry, as he retook his place at his desk, ”how I should like to tell you, Uncle Luke, just what I think.”

The door closed behind the old man, who had nearly reached the end of the long pa.s.sage, when he met Van Heldre.

”Ah, Luke Vine, I was just coming.”

”Go back,” said the visitor, making a stab at the merchant with his stick. ”Brought you something. Where's Mrs Van Heldre?”

”In the breakfast-room. Come along.”

Van Heldre clapped the old man on the shoulder, and led him into the room where Mrs Van Heldre was seated at work.

”Ah, Mr Luke Vine,” she cried, ”who'd have thought of seeing you?”

”Not you. How are you? Where's the girl?”

”Gone up to your brother's.”

”Humph! to gad about and idle with Louie, I suppose. Here, I've brought you some fish. Caught it at daylight this morning. Ring for a dish.”

”It's very kind and thoughtful of you, Luke Vine,” said Mrs Van Heldre, with her pink face dimpling as she rang the bell, and then trotted to the door, which she opened, and cried, ”Bring in a large dish, Esther!

I always like to save the servants' legs if I can,” she continued as she returned to her seat, while Van Heldre stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting. He knew his visitor.

Just then a neat-looking maid-servant entered with a large blue dish, and stood holding it by the door, gazing at the quaint-looking old man, sitting with the basket between his legs, and his heavy stick resting across his knees.

”Put it down and go.”

The girl placed the dish on the table hurriedly, and left the room.

”See if she has gone.”

”No fear,” said Van Heldre, obeying, to humour his visitor. ”I don't think my servants listen at doors.”

”Don't trust 'em, or anybody else,” said Uncle Luke with a grim look, as he opened his basket wide. ”Going to trust her?”

”Well, I'm sure, Mr Luke Vine!” cried Mrs Van Heldre, ”I believe you learn up rude things to say.”

”He can't help it,” said Van Heldre, laughing. ”Yes,” he continued, with a droll look at his wife, which took her frown away, ”I think we'll trust her, Luke, my lad--as far as the fish is concerned.”

”Eh! What?” said Uncle Luke, s.n.a.t.c.hing his hands from his basket.