"Speaking of luck, this is the limit! I
can't help thinking of what my grandmother would say if she saw me."
He was a new order of companion, but before they had reached the house,
Mount Dunstan had begun to find him inspiring to the spirits.
His jovial, if crude youth, his unaffected acknowledgment of
unaccustomedness to grandeur, even when in dilapidation, his delight in
the novelty of the particular forms of everything about him--trees and
sward, ferns and moss, his open self-congratulation, were without doubt
cheerful things.
His exclamation, when they came within sight of the house itself, was
for a moment disturbing to Mount Dunstan's composure.
"Hully gee!" he said. "The old lady was right. All I've thought about
'em was 'way off. It's bigger than a museum." His approval was immense.
During the absence in which he was supplied with the "wash and brush
up," Mount Dunstan found Mr. Penzance in the library. He explained to
him what he had encountered, and how it had attracted him.
"You have liked to hear me describe my Western neighbours," he said.
"This youngster is a New York development, and of a different type.
But there is a likeness. I have invited to lunch with us, a young man
whom--Tenham, for instance, if he were here--would call 'a bounder.
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