him wear Dora's bath slippers, which are soft and woolly, and
hardly any soles to them; and of course we wanted to see the Uncle,
so we looked over the banisters when he came, and we were as quiet
as mice--but when Eliza had let him in she went straight down to the
kitchen and made the most awful row you ever heard, it sounded like the
Day of judgement, or all the saucepans and crockery in the house being
kicked about the floor, but she told me afterwards it was only the
tea-tray and one or two cups and saucers, that she had knocked over in
her flurry. We heard the Uncle say, 'God bless my soul!' and then
he went into Father's study and the door was shut--we didn't see him
properly at all that time.

I don't believe the dinner was very nice. Something got burned I'm
sure--for we smelt it. It was an extra smell, besides the mutton.

I know that got burned. Eliza wouldn't have any of us in the kitchen
except Dora--till dinner was over. Then we got what was left of the
dessert, and had it on the stairs--just round the corner where they
can't see you from the hall, unless the first landing gas is lighted.
Suddenly the study door opened and the Uncle came out and went and felt
in his greatcoat pocket. It was his cigar-case he wanted. We saw that
afterwards. We got a much better view of him then. He didn't look like
an Indian but just like a kind of brown, big Englishman, and of course
he didn't see us, but we heard him mutter to himself--

'Shocking bad dinner! Eh!--what?'

When he went back to the study he didn't shut the door properly. That
door has always been a little tiresome since the day we took the lock
off to get out the pencil sharpener H. O. had shoved into the keyhole.
We didn't listen--really and truly--but the Indian Uncle has a very big
voice, and Father was not going to be beaten by a poor Indian in talking
or anything else--so he spoke up too, like a man, and I heard him say it
was a very good business, and only wanted a little capital--and he said
it as if it was an imposition he had learned, and he hated having to
say it. The Uncle said, 'Pooh, pooh!' to that, and then he said he
was afraid that what that same business wanted was not capital but
management. Then I heard my Father say, 'It is not a pleasant subject:
I am sorry I introduced it. Suppose we change it, sir. Let me fill your
glass.' Then the poor Indian said something about vintage--and that
a poor, broken-down man like he was couldn't be too