Part 29 (2/2)
”What do you mean?”
”That the dish is waiting for the bit of conger.”
”Let it wait,” said the old man snappishly. ”You're too, clever Van-- too clever. Look here; how are you getting on with that boy?”
”Oh, slowly. Rome was not built in a day.”
”No,” chuckled the old man, ”no. Work away, and make him a useful member of society--like his aunt, eh Mrs Van.”
”Useful!” cried Mrs Van. ”Ah!”
Then old Luke chuckled and drew the fish from the basket.
”Fine one, ain't it?” he said.
”A beauty,” cried Mrs Van Heldre ecstatically.
”Pshah!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Luke. ”Ma'am you don't care for it a bit; but there's more than I want, and it will help keep your servants.”
”It would, Luke,” said Van Heldre laughing as the fish was laid in the dish, ”but they will not touch it. Well?”
”Eh? What do you mean by well?” snorted the old man with a suspicious look. ”Out with it.”
”Out with what?”
”What you have brought.”
The two men gazed in each other's faces, the merchant looking half amused, the visitor annoyed; but his dry countenance softened into a smile and he turned to Mrs Van Heldre. ”Artful!” he said dryly.
”Don't you find him too cunning to get on with?”
”I should think not indeed,” said Mrs Van Heldre indignantly.
”Might have known you'd say that,” sneered Uncle Luke. ”What a weak, foolish woman you are!”
”Yes, I am, thank goodness! I wish you'd have a little more of my foolishness in you, Mr Luke Vine. There, I beg your pardon. What have you got there, shrimps?”
”Yes,” said Uncle Luke grimly, as he brought a brown paper parcel from the bottom of his basket, where it had lain under the wet piece of conger, whose stain was on the cover, ”some nice crisp fresh shrimps.
Here, Van--catch.”
He threw the packet to his brother's old friend and comrade, by whom it was deftly caught, while Mrs Van Heldre looked on in a puzzled way.
”Put 'em in your safe till I find another investment for 'em. Came down by post this morning, and I don't like having 'em at home. Out fis.h.i.+ng so much.”
”How much is there?” said Van Heldre, opening the fishy brown paper, and taking therefrom sundry crisp new Bank of England notes.
”Five hundred and fifty,” said Uncle Luke. ”Count 'em over.”
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