Part 10 (2/2)

”Come in miss, do,” said the latter. ”I know you'll like this.” And she beamed proudly, with a look at the spotless white tablecloth, and the set-out of blus.h.i.+ng strawberries and snowy cream, and the thin, tempting slices of brown bread and b.u.t.ter. ”I've made you a nice cup of tea, too, Mr Wagram, sir. I don't know that you'll take a fancy to such things,” added the good dame ruefully.

”I'll take an immense fancy to a gla.s.s or two of your husband's excellent home-brewed, Mrs Pritchett. Why, you're forgetting how I've enjoyed it before to-day.”

”Why, of course I am, sir,” was the reply, immensely pleased; and in a trice the farmer returned with a foam-capped jug and a gla.s.s.

”What's this?” said Wagram, with reference to the latter. ”Why, certainly you're going to keep me company, Pritchett.”

”Well, sir, I shall be proud,” was the answer, and the omission was promptly rectified.

”Here are your healths,” said Wagram, raising his gla.s.s. ”I didn't see you yesterday, Mrs Pritchett. Weren't you able to get over? Of course, I don't mean necessarily for the service,” he added quickly; ”but you ought to know by this time that all our friends are heartily welcome, irrespective of their creed.”

”Well, sir, you see it was this way,” began the good woman with some slight embarra.s.sment.

”That's all right,” interrupted Wagram genially. ”Well, you'll know it next time, I'm sure.”

”That I shall, sir.”

After a little more pleasant conversation they shook hands heartily with the worthy couple and took their leave.

Just before the dressing-bell rang Haldane burst in upon Wagram in a wholly unwonted state of excitement.

”What's this my little girl has been telling me, Wagram?” he said. ”I must go and kill the scoundrel at once. I'll borrow the Squire's biggest hunting-crop.”

”You can't, Haldane, if only that we haven't the remotest idea who the said scoundrel is. It's probably some miserable counter-jumper doing a bike round. But, sit tight; he's got enough to last him for many a long day.”

”Did you cut him to ribbons? Did you?”

”I cut his small-clothes to ribbons. By George, he'll have to launch out in a new biking suit. No; great as the offence was, even I think he got something like adequate compensation for it,” added Wagram grimly, as he called to mind the fellow's insults--and their object.

And with this a.s.surance Haldane had perforce to remain satisfied.

CHAPTER NINE.

”WE GET NO SHOW.”

”Great Scott!” exclaimed Clytie Calmour as a vehement ring sounded at the front gate, obviously produced by the owner of the large red head which surmounted that portal. ”Great Scott! but whoever called this shebang Siege House named it well. Here's our last butcher pestering for his account for the seventh time. Now, dad, sh.e.l.l out.”

”Don't talk rot, Clytie. You know I haven't got a stiver. He'll have to wait till next quarter-day. Tell him that, and let him go to the devil.”

”Yes, yes; that's all right. But meanwhile we shall have to be vegetarians.”

”This infernal dunning gets on a man's nerves. It oughtn't to be allowed,” grumbled old Calmour, who, it being only breakfast-time, was not sufficiently drunk to philosophise.

”No, it oughtn't,” cut in Bob; ”but this time tell him we'll square with him next week to a dead cert, Clytie, and deal with him ever after. You know, dad. You were forgetting,” with a significant wink.

”I wonder what nefarious plan you're hatching between you,” said Delia.

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