Good Lord, the hard-luck stories I hear
every day of my life. And they get a sort of look about the eyes and
mouth. I hate to see it on any fellow. It makes me sort of sick to come
across it even in a chap that's only got his fool self to blame. I may
be making another break, telling you--but you looked sort of that way."
"Perhaps," stolidly, "I did." Then, his voice warming,
"It was jolly good-natured of you to think about it at all. Thank you."
"That's all right," in polite acknowledgment. Then with another look
over the hedge, "Say--what ought I to call you? Earl, or my Lord?"
"It's not necessary for you to call me anything in particular--as a
rule. If you were speaking of me, you might say Lord Mount Dunstan."
G. Selden looked relieved.
"I don't want to be too much off," he said. "And I'd like to ask you
a favour. I've only three weeks here, and I don't want to miss any
chances."
"What chance would you like?"
"One of the things I'm biking over the country for, is to get a look
at just such a place as this. We haven't got 'em in America. My old
grandmother was always talking about them. Before her mother brought
her to New York she'd lived in a village near some park gates, and she
chinned about it till she died.
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