"Thanks," said Dick. "Oh! about the horse. I've had him turned out. I don't think he's hurt much; only the hair cut; and he'll be all right again presently."
"I'm glad to hear it. I needn't say that directly he's well enough, you can——Will you give me that letter again?" he broke off, as if something had occurred to him.
Dick complied, and Drake Vernon opened it, added a line or two, and placed it in a fresh envelope.
"There was a message I had to give you, but I've forgotten it," said Dick, as he took the letter again. "Oh, ah, yes! It was from my sister. She asked me to ask you if you'd care to have some books. She didn't quite know whether you ought to read yet?"
"I should. Please thank your sister," said Vernon.
"Anything you fancy? Don't suppose you'll find Nell's books very lively. She's rather strong on poetry and the 'Heir of Redclyffe' kind of literature. I'll bring you some of my own with them. Mamma, being a Wolfer, goes in for the Fashion Gazette and the Court Circular, which won't be much in your line, I expect."
"Not in the least," Mr. Vernon admitted.
"So long, then, till I come back. Sure there's nothing else I can do for you, sir?"
He went downstairs—availing himself of the invalid's permission to make a noise by whistling "Tommy Atkins"—and Nell looked in at the French window, as he swept a row of books from the shelf of the sideboard.
"Dick, what an awful noise!" she said reproachfully, and in the subdued voice which had become natural with all of them.