Almost before Sam realised that the morning had gone luncheon was announced and they adjourned, Sam leaning on Mr. York’s shoulder, to a screen-enclosed porch that opened from the dining-room, and sat down at a small table laid for two.
“Hope you’ll find enough to eat,” said Mr. York. “We don’t have very hearty lunches. I usually play golf in the afternoon and find that a heavy meal makes me slow.”
Sam truthfully replied that he didn’t doubt but what there was more than enough, and events proved him right. After cold meats and two vegetables and a salad and hot rolls and a pastry and two tall glasses of iced-tea he wondered what Mr. York would consider a heavy meal!
“If you want to do anything—play golf, I mean, sir—please don’t mind me,” said Sam when he had hobbled back to the veranda. “I’ll be all right alone. I can read or—or just sit here and look at things.”
“Not many things to see, are there?” laughed Mr. York.
“I mean just the view. It’s fine to be able to see so far, isn’t it?”
“It’s quite a view, and that’s a fact. But I don’t care for golf to-day, Craig. Later on I’ll run over to the village and get a letter off. Meanwhile we’ll chin some more and then you’d better lie down a while and have a nap. How’s the knee now?”
“It isn’t nearly so sore, I think.”
“That’s good, but we ought to moisten that bandage again. I’ll tell William to bring some water in a basin, and, as there’s no one to see, we’ll perform the operation right here.”