“Rather. Old Churton takes care of that,” laughed the tall, handsome lad. “He must have been a terror at Rugby.”
Wagram had taken his son from school for a quarter on his return. He yearned to have the boy with him after his long separation, and his restoration to life, as it were; but he sent him to read every morning with a neighbouring Anglican rector, an ex-public school master.
“Glad to hear it. Churton’s a conscientious man and an energetic one. It must be almost the renewal of his youth to start as bear leader again.”
“Don’t know about ‘leader’—‘driver’ would be nearer the right word, pater. I say, what are you doing this afternoon?”
“Going over to Haldane’s. Want to come?”
“Rather. Bike, I suppose?”
Wagram nodded. “In an hour after lunch, then,” he said.
Gerard found his father somewhat absent as they spun along between the newly-sprouting hedges in the spring sunlight, and wondered. The fact was that Wagram had made up his mind to take Haldane into confidence, at any rate partially, and was thinking over how much he should tell him as yet. To this end he had brought with him the tin case.
“Hallo, Gerard,” he cried, waking from his abstraction as they neared their objective. “By George! I’m a dullish companion for a young ’un on a bike ride—eh, old chap?”
“That’s all right, pater. Look. There’s Yvonne under the elm; and, great Scott! what the mischief has she been doing to herself? Oh, I say!”