“It’s Gloss and the Colonel, dad,” he cried. “He’s told her and she’s just so happy she wants us to know.”
“Hello, Gloss,” he called back, “just in time for a sugar-off. I was gettin’ one ready for Davie.”
The Colonel was puffing and wiping his brow on his handkerchief.
“Gracious,” he cried, “our Gloss is a tartar on the walk. She has me about winded.”
He drew Boy aside and spoke to him in a low tone.
“I can’t understand the darling,” he confessed. “She thinks a whole lot of me already, Boy—I can see that. But she actually turned white when I told her what we all thought would be good news to her. Says she, ‘Does Boy know?’ And I said, ‘Why, dear, of course he knows, and he’s tickled to death.’ ”
Boy bit his lips.
“Of course,” he agreed; “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”
“Yes, do,” cried the Colonel. “She seems to think what you say is about right.”
Boy tried to laugh, but the attempt was a failure. He passed over to where Gloss stood with Davie’s hand in hers.