Guy and Doyle began to exchange congratulations over George’s shoulders, pointing to the passages which particularly pleased them. George, having examined the paragraph in which his name occurred to make sure that they had not let it out of this copy, surrendered the paper and grinned cheerfully at Cynthia.
Cynthia saw the grin and it jarred upon her. Cynthia was not feeling at all like grinning that morning.
“What do you think of it all, George?” she asked.
“Me?” said George in some surprise; George was not used to having his opinion sought. “Oh, I think it’s rather a rag.”
In spite of herself Cynthia laughed. “You hopeless babies!” she said, and went out of the room.
Two minutes later she was back again. “It may interest you to know,” she remarked coldly from the doorway, “that half the population of Duffley seems to be in the road outside this house. Will one of you go and send them away, please?” She withdrew again.
“The crowd collects,” murmured Guy with pleasure. “That’s quite in order. Highly professional conduct on the part of the crowd.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Doyle. “I’d forgotten to mention that. I was gloating over them at breakfast. It just wanted a crowd to top things off. George, go and send them away.”
“Oh, come,” protested George. “I like that.”
“I thought you would. You’re the sort of person who can get a lot of fun out of a crowd, George, providing, of course, that they’re sufficiently rough. I hope you won’t be disappointed. Run along. You heard what Cynthia said.”