“Send Oliver with them,” said Mr. Grimwig, with an ironical smile; “he will be sure to deliver them safely, you know.”
“Yes; do let me take them, if you please, sir,” said Oliver. “I’ll run all the way, sir.”
The old gentleman was just going to say that Oliver should not go out on any account; when a most malicious cough from Mr. Grimwig determined him that he should; and that, by his prompt discharge of the commission, he should prove to him the injustice of his suspicions: on this head at least: at once.
“You shall go, my dear,” said the old gentleman. “The books are on a chair by my table. Fetch them down.”
Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the books under his arm in a great bustle; and waited, cap in hand, to hear what message he was to take.
“You are to say,” said Mr. Brownlow, glancing steadily at Grimwig; “you are to say that you have brought those books back; and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back, ten shillings change.”
“I won’t be ten minutes, sir,” said Oliver, eagerly. Having buttoned up the banknote in his jacket pocket, and placed the books carefully under his arm, he made a respectful bow, and left the room. Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the street-door, giving him many directions about the nearest way, and the name of the bookseller, and the name of the street: all of which Oliver said he clearly understood. Having superadded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, the old lady at length permitted him to depart.
“Bless his sweet face!” said the old lady, looking after him. “I can’t bear, somehow, to let him go out of my sight.”