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Updated: June 23, 2025
Chichester, "what you may call my locus standi in this affair is just nothing at all. If the child had demanded my right to be putting questions to him, 'faith, I don't know what I could have answered." "It ain't that at all," said Tilda, after considering awhile. "It's your bein' a clergyman. 'E's shy of clergymen. If ever you'd seen Glasson you wouldn' wonder at it, neither."
But, as I said to mother, where's the sense in sendin' messages by children?" "Children?" "There was two on 'em a boy an' a girl " "Ah!" interrupted Dr. Glasson. "Describe them, please." The lad scratched his head. "Mother took the message. I was indoors, havin' tea, an' didn' see more 'n a glimpse.
"It's about a a boy, sir," stammered Tilda, and felt a horrible fear creeping over her now that she approached the crisis. "That is, if you're the Reverend Doctor Glasson." "I am Doctor Glasson. Well?" "It's about a boy," harked back poor Tilda.
"I'll risk that," she assured him. "Well, you see, Glasson owes me for coal; thirteen ten on the last lot delivered, and six pounds owin' before that total nineteen ten. I warned him he'd got the last lot out o' me by a trick; an' I'm goin' to send Sam to see if there's a chance to recover it. That'll be by the back way same as the children got out. Eh?
"You don't deserve it you reelly don't," she said, more in sorrow than in anger; then with a sharp change of tone, "And you three 'ave been allowin', I s'pose, that our best chance to escape notice is travellin' around with a fur coat an' a sixty-foot Theayter Royal? . . . W'y, wot was it put Glasson on our tracks? . . . Oh, I'm not blamin' yer!
But here comes father," he added briskly, as again wheels were heard on the road, and old Holly drove into the yard with his belated wagon. "You must admit, sir," said Dr. Glasson, addressing Mr. Gavel, "that circumstances are beginning to look too strong for you." "Oh, to with circumstances!" retorted Mr. Gavel. "Mortimer's in this, for a fiver.
Whereupon the lady at the pay-table had started up, scattering her coins, and shrieked; and this had started the stampede. "Which," added Sam in a whisper to Tilda, "was lucky for us in a way; becos Glasson, after tacklin' Mortimer be'ind the scenes an' threatenin' to have his blood in a bottle, had started off with Gavel to fetch the perlice.
Pounds out of pocket I am by this, not to speak of reputation. Where are they? Where have you put 'em?" "That's what I'll trouble you to answer, sir." "My hosses! . . . You don't mean to tell me " Mr. Gavel smote his brow. "But you said just now you were looking for me!" he cried. "You act well, sir," said Dr. Glasson sternly. "It is your profession.
As they reached the gate they heard the voice of Doctor Glasson uplifted, gurgling for help. They spied him at once, for by a lucky chance his lantern one of the common stable kind, with panes of horn had fallen from his grasp as he pitched over the edge of the basin. It floated, bobbing on the waves cast up by his struggles and splashings, and by the light of it they quickly reached the spot.
I'm going to have the time of my life at Bursfield in Glasson's absence. You saw Glasson depart? Well, he didn't tell; but you may pack me in another portmanteau if he's not posting off to Monte Carlo." "Well?" "Well, he won't find Miles Chandon there. Because why? Because I've written out this telegram, which I'll trouble you to send as soon as the post office opens to-morrow.
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