After a moment's hesitation Mayne replied:
"Well, I've no doubt Togo is a good sort—he reminds me of a variety of dogs I've seen!"
"Variety—you mean he is a mongrel?"
"I'd rather not commit myself. Perhaps he is a particular hill breed?"
"No, but one of the best of our pack," said his owner, "and if he seems all leg, he is really all heart. Come here, Togo,—'handsome is, that handsome does,' eh Togo?"
And Togo went over and laid his head on his master's knee, and turned a deeply reproachful gaze upon the stranger.
"I'm going down to the factory, if you'd care to come," said Travers. "I'll show you the lie of the land, and Nancy can concentrate on her tea-party."
Mayne accepted with alacrity, and in a few minutes, the two men, followed by the two dogs, were to be seen descending the hill.
"I knew a fellow of your name long ago," announced Travers; "I was one of the juniors, when he was in the sixth form at Harrow; a remarkably good-looking chap, Derek Mayne. We small fry worshipped him—he was Captain of the Eleven."
"It must have been my father; he was at Harrow, and his name was Derek Mayne—so is mine."