Matthew yielded. When they emerged into the street again, after
six minutes of Cyril's savage interest in his own work, Matthew
remembered Mrs. Scales.
"Of course you'll write to your mother?" he said.
"Yes," said Cyril, "I'll write; but if you happen to see her, you
might tell her."
"I will," said Matthew. "Shall you go over to Paris?"
"What! To see Auntie?" He smiled. "I don't know. Depends. If the
mater will fork out all my exes ... it's an idea," he said
lightly, and then without any change of tone, "Naturally, if
you're going to idle about here all morning you aren't likely to
catch the twelve-five."
Matthew got into the cab, while the driver, the stump of a cigar
between his exposed teeth, leaned forward and lifted the reins
away from the tilted straw hat.
"By-the-by, lend me some silver," Matthew demanded. "It's a good
thing I've got my return ticket. I've run it as fine as ever I did
in my life."
Cyril produced eight shillings in silver. Secure in the possession
of these riches, Matthew called to the driver--
"Euston--like hell!"
"Yes, sir," said the driver, calmly.
"Not coming my way I suppose?" Matthew shouted as an afterthought,
just when the cab began to move.
Pages:
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766