The Vast Abyss

“Thank you,” was the cold reply.

“But I don’t think you are any the worse for it.”

“Thank you!” said Uncle James again, but more shortly.

“Tom, my lad, tell David as soon as dinner is over to borrow the Vicar’s cart, and go to the sand-pit and fetch the broken chair.”

“David has gone to the station, uncle,” said Tom.

“Station? What for?”

“Uncle sent him for the fly.”

“Fly?”

“Yes, sir,” said Uncle James. “I sent your gardener for the fly, and if there’s any charge for his services I will pay him. I see I have outstayed my welcome, and the sooner I am off the better.”

“My dear James, don’t be absurd,” said Uncle Richard. “What you say is childish.”

“Of course, sir; sick and helpless men are always childish.”

“There, don’t take it like that. Tom assures me it was an accident. If you are upset by it, let me send for the doctor to see you.”

“Thank you; I’ll send for my own doctor as soon as I get back to town.”

“You’re not going back to town to-day,” said Uncle Richard, smiling.

“We shall see about that,” said Uncle James, rising from his place, for the dinner was at an end, and walking firmly enough out of the room.

Uncle Richard frowned and looked troubled. Mrs Fidler looked at Tom, and as soon as they were alone she began to question him, and heard all.

“Well,” she said, “I’m not going to make any remarks, my dear, it isn’t my duty; but I will say this, I don’t like to see your dear uncle imposed upon even by his brother, and I hope to goodness Mr James will keep his word, for I don’t believe you upset him on purpose.”

Uncle James did keep his word, for an hour later he was in the fly with his portmanteau on his way to the station.

“And never give me so much as a shilling, Master Tom, and me been twice to fetch that fly. If he wasn’t your uncle, sir, I’d call him mean. But what did you say? I’m to fetch the chair, as is lying broken at the big sand-pit?”

“Yes, in Mr Maxted’s cart.”

“Did it fall over?”

“Yes, right over, down the slope from top to bottom.”

“And him in it, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll forgive him, and young Mr Sam Brandon too. My word, sir, I’d ha’ give something to ha’ been there to see.”

“But he must have hurt himself, David.”

“What there, sir? Tchah! that sand’s as soft as silk. Wouldn’t like to come and help fetch the chair, sir?”

“Yes, I should, David; I should like the ride.”

“Then come on, sir, and we’ll go round the other way from the Vicarage gates. Right from top to bottom, eh, sir? Well, I would have give something to ha’ been there to see.”

Chapter Twenty Three

“Humph!” ejaculated Uncle Richard, as he finished his inspection of the bath-chair just taken out of the Vicar’s cart. “See that the carrier calls for it, David, to take it back to Guildford; and you, Tom, write for me to the man it was hired from, pointing out that we have had an accident, and tell him to send in his bill.”

“And it’ll be a big ’un, Master Tom,” said David, chuckling and rubbing his hands as soon as his master was out of hearing. “My word, it’s got it, and no mistake. One wheel right off, the front all twissen, and the axle-tree bent. It’ll be like making a new ’un. Tck!”

“You wouldn’t laugh like that, David, if you’d got it to pay for,” said Tom.

“True for you, Master Tom; but I wasn’t laughing at the ravage, but at the idee of your uncle, who creeps about thinking he’s very bad when he arn’t thinking o’ nothing else, going spinning down the hill, and steering hisself right into the old sand-pit.”

“And I don’t see that you have anything to laugh at in that,” said Tom stiffly.

“More don’t I, Master Tom, but I keep on laughing all the more, and can’t help it. Now if he had been very badly, I don’t think I could ha’ done it.”

“My uncle is very ill, and came down here for the benefit of his health,” said Tom sternly.

“Then your nursing, Master Tom, and my vegetables and fruit’s done him a lot o’ good, for the way he walked home after being spilt did us a lot o’ credit. I couldn’t ha’ walked better.”

Tom thought the same, though he would not say so, but helped the gardener place the wrecked chair in the coach-house, and then found his uncle coming that way.

“Get the wheelbarrow, Tom,” he said, “and we’ll take the new discs of glass into the workshop.”

“And begin again, uncle?” cried Tom excitedly.

“What, are you ready to go through all that labour again?”

“Ready, uncle?” cried the boy reproachfully. “Why, all the while Uncle James has been down here it has seemed to be like so much waste of time.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Uncle Richard; “then we must work over hours to win back the loss. Help him on with the case carefully, David, and I’ll go first to open the door.”

“Say, Master Tom,” said the gardener, “ain’t it more waste o’ time to go glass-grinding and making contrapshums like this? Hey, but it’s precious heavy,” he continued, as he helped to lift one end of the case on to the long barrow.

“Waste of time to make scientific instruments?” cried Tom.

“Ay. What’s the good on it when it’s done?”

“To look at the sun, moon, and stars, to be sure.”

“Well, you can do that without tallow-scoops, sir; and you take my advice, don’t you get looking at the sun through none o’ them things, sir. Hey, but it be a weight!” he continued, raising the handles of the barrow.

“Never mind; I can manage it,” cried Tom.