He seized and wrung the hand of the amazed Dick, utterly ignoring his feelings. Only felt that he must do something to relieve his own. He retained just sufficient self-control to keep himself from indulging in a wild dance of jubilation.
Dick, affecting to nurse crushed fingers, made an effort to get to the bottom of things. Usually he accepted circumstances without inquiry as to their source; but suspicion was roused in him now. It was suspicion of a kind that he wanted to make into certainty; he said:
"A few minutes ago you expressed regret that I had mentioned you at all in the letter."
"I know! But a few minutes ago things were all gloomy and black and ugly! Now they are all bright, rose-coloured and lovely. The sun has risen! The pulse of day is beginning to beat!"
"I say, old chap—how much a thousand words do you get for that kind of thing? You roll it off as naturally as water rolls off a duck's back."
"When do we reach London, Dick?"
"Reach London? Are you mad? Why, we haven't turned round on our homeward journey yet!"
"There's some sort of overland route, isn't there? We can get back quicker?"
"Quicker? You are mad! It was only this very morning that you were expressing regret that the time of the trip wasn't going to be double the length!"
"This morning was then! Now is now! Oh, Dick, you stony-hearted, wicked villain you!" He sprang laughingly over to the boy as he spoke. "Why didn't you say before——"