He pulled out his watch.
"My dear boy, it's luncheon time. Will you come in and have something
to eat with me?"
I hesitated; Mrs. Bundle had not spoken of any meal in connection with
the ceremony of "dropping in," but, on the other hand, I should
certainly like to lunch at the Rectory, I thought. And, indeed, I was
hungry.
"Oh, you must come," said Mr. Andrewes, leading me away without
waiting for an answer. "I'm sure you must be hungry, and the dog too.
What's his name, eh?"
"Rubens," said I.
"Does he paint?" Mr. Andrewes inquired. But as I knew nothing of
Painter Peter Paul Rubens or his works, I was only puzzled, and said
he knew a good many tricks which I had taught him.
"We'll see if he can beg for chicken-bones," said the parson,
hospitably; and indoors we went. Mr. Andrewes said grace, though not
in the words to which I was accustomed, and we sat down together,
Rubens lying by my chair. I endeavoured to conduct myself with the
strictest propriety, and I believe succeeded, except for the trifling
mischance of spilling some bread-sauce on to my jacket. Mr. Andrewes
saw this, however, and wanted to fasten a table-napkin round me, to
which I objected.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144