"The thing is--is it ?" As Mrs Trimble was unable to answer this question, she retired from the discussion, and hoped devoutly nothing was going to happen which would necessitate her doing more work about the school than she at present did.
The unconscious Jeffreys meanwhile was upstairs, washing himself before starting for his weekly "evening out." He had more than usual before him on this particular evening, as, besides calling at the post-office-- an errand he never missed--he had discovered another old bookshop across the river which kept open till seven o'clock.

And after that he had promised Freddy and Teddy, with whom from the first he had kept up a warm friendship, to call up at their house and help them mend their tricycle.

With this full programme before him, he lost no time in starting on his travels; little dreaming that the quick pace at which he strode along gave unwonted exercise to Mr Jonah Trimble, who, animated by an amiable curiosity, dogged his footsteps at a respectful distance.
It was about five o'clock when Jeffreys reached the post-office.

The clerk knew him by this time, and this evening handed him a letter without being asked.

It was a short friendly line from Mr Frampton with no news--at any rate about Forrester; and Trimble, as he watched him emerge from the office, letter in hand, and haggard in face, chalked down in in his own mind a first clue as to the mystery that was exercising him.
From the post-office Jeffreys strolled leisurely down the streets toward the bridge, stopping to look into some of the shops by the way, and occasionally making Trimble's heart jump by looking behind him.
In due time he pulled up at the bookseller's shop.