When at last
quiet was restored, he told his story, omitting as many of his own
doings as were not absolutely necessary to make it clear, in a fear
lest they should provoke another outburst of embraces.
When he had clearly grasped the fact that Tinker was the son of Sir
Tancred Beauleigh, all the warm-heartedness of his native Drumtochty
bubbled up in Mr. Joseph Kernaby; he shook him warmly by the hand, and
cried:
"Mah mannie; eh, but you're a braw sonsie laddie; an' aiblins ye need
it, nor yoursel' nor any o' your noble an' deesteengueeshed family
shall ne'er ask the twice a wee bit bite or soop unner this humble
roof."
Tinker, not having the Gaelic, was somewhat taken aback by the cryptic
utterance; but an anxious-looking younger son of an embarrassed peer,
who for a considerable consideration was bear-leading the millionaire
through the social labyrinth, hurriedly interpreted it to him as a
standing invitation to dinner. He thanked Mr. Kernaby, and begged that
a telegram might at once be sent to his father, informing him of his
success and safety.
"They tallygrams they yanners the saxpences, mah mannie," said the
millionaire with a falling face. "A poostcaird is a verra----"
But the anxious-looking younger son cut him short, said that it should
be sent at once, and bade the footman charged with its despatch bring
also a doctor to dress Tinker's wounded hands.
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