After Long Years.
“Let’s get the ponies, and jog over and look up Jermyn. Shall we, Campian?” said Upward, during breakfast a few mornings later.
“I’m on. But—who’s Jermyn when he’s at home?”
“He isn’t at home. He’s out here now,” cut in Lily.
“Smart young party, Lil,” said Campian, with an approving nod. “And who is he when he’s out here now?”
“Why, Jermyn, of course.”
“Thanks. That’s precisely what I wanted to know. Thanks, fair Lilian. Thine information is as terse as it is precise.”
“I should say Colonel Jermyn if I were you, Lily,” expostulated that young person’s mother; whereat Hazel crowed exultantly, and Campian laughed. The latter went on:
“As I was saying, Upward, before we were interrupted, who is Jermyn?”
“Oh, he’s a Punjab cavalry man up here on furlough. He’s had fever bad, and even Shâlalai wasn’t high enough for him, though he doesn’t want to go home, so he rented my forest bungalow for the summer. It’s about eight miles in the Gushki direction. You haven’t been that way yet.”