Inquiring at the ‘Royal,’ the overseer was told that Mr Potts had left; although, perhaps, if he hastened, he might yet see him, as the train hadn’t started. Sure enough, galloping up to the station and searching along the carriages, he found his man just making himself comfortable in smoking-cap and slippers.
‘Be jakers, mister,’ he gasped breathlessly, ‘the Boss wants to see ye badly! Have ye got anythin’ for him? It’s of a book he was spakin’. Tould me to tell ye that he’d be in himself directly.’
‘Too late! Can’t stop! Time’s up!’ replied Mr Potts. ‘But’—rising to the occasion, and taking the last copy of ‘Do-ree’ out of his portmanteau—‘this is it. It’s for Master Reginald’s birthday. Your Boss wouldn’t miss having it for three times the money. Six pounds—quick!’
In a desperate flurry, the overseer ransacked his pockets. No; he could only muster four.
‘All right, guard, wait a minute!’ he yelled as, borrowing the balance, he clutched the book, whilst the train, giving a screech, moved away, with Mr Potts nodding and grinning a friendly farewell.
‘Be kicked now!’ exclaimed the overseer, ‘if that wasn’t a close shave! The Boss oughter think himself lucky, so he ought!’
So, carrying the book carefully under his arm, he jogged Barracaboowards.
Half way he met Mr Morris coming in at full speed.
‘No hurry in loife, sorr!’ cried the overseer, beamingly, and showing ‘Don Quixote.’ ‘I ped six notes for it, an’ had to borrow two. It was just touch an’ go, though, so it was!’
‘Bother!’ exclaimed Mr Barton, the Manager of Tarnpirr, as he finished reading one of his letters on a certain evening.
‘What’s the matter, papa?’ asked his daughter, Daisy, pausing with the teapot in her hand.
‘Oh, nothing much, my dear,’ he replied; only we are to have company. The firm is sending up the 444th cousin of an Irish Earl to learn sheep-farming, and I suppose I’ve got the contract to break him in. That’s all.’
‘I wish your mother could be at home, Daisy,’ he continued. ‘I never did care much about these colonial-experience fellows. They generally give a lot of trouble, especially when they’re well connected. There, read the precious letter for yourself. Pity we couldn’t put him into the hut, instead of making him one of ourselves—eh, Daisy?’