Читать книгу Slade - Warwick Deeping - Страница 18
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ОглавлениеAt lunch that day Mrs. Richmond asked her husband a question.
“Have you noticed Mrs. Pomeroy’s—porter?”
Dr. Richmond came out of meditative immersion in a case that was puzzling him.
“Old Slade?”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes. He valets Truslove. A mute old creature.”
Said Mrs. Richmond, “He has the face of a saint. I wonder——”
Her husband smiled at her.
“You are always discovering strange virtues—in strange places.”
“Am I, John? I’m not conscious of——”
“Well, you make people look saints——”
Charles, home for the summer holidays, and rollicking in plum tart and custard, had something to say upon the saintliness of James Slade.
“He tells lies.”
“How do you know that, my son?”
“He pretends to be deaf, and he isn’t. I caught him out.”
“Are you sure he didn’t catch you out, Master Clever?”
“He—couldn’t catch—me—out.”
His mother gently snubbed him.
“Little boys don’t know everything.”
“Very true,” said his father. “Since you got that move from the Upper First you have been growing a little too cocky.”
