the gentleman for us, and he feels it.”
“Bah!”
“Not at all the sort of young man I should have selected for a clerk.”
“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 passage, 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, snatching his hands from his basket. “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!” ejaculated 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 fishing 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.”
This was already being done, Van Heldre having moistened a finger and begun handling the notes in regular bank-clerk style.
“All right; five fifty,” he said.
“And he said they were shrimps,” said Mrs Van Heldre.
“Eh? I did?” said Uncle Luke with a grim look and a twinkle of the eye. “Nonsense, it must have been you.”
“Look here, Luke Vine,” said Van Heldre; “is it any use to try and teach you at your time of life?”
“Not a bit: so don’t try.”
“But why expose yourself to all this trouble and risk? Why didn’t your broker send you a cheque?”
“Because I wouldn’t let him.”
