Mr. Gayne emitted an inarticulate sound which, but for the presence of the ladies, would evidently have been articulate. "Oh, well," he groaned, rising to a sitting posture on the side of the hammock, "I suppose I shall have to galvanize my old bones and go after them myself."
His nephew's blank look did not change. He stood as if awaiting further orders, and his listless eyes met Mrs. Lowell's kindly gaze.
"It is good fun to look through field-glasses in a place like this, isn't it, Bertie?" she said.
The boy's surprise at being addressed was evident. "I—I don't know," he replied.
His uncle laughed. "That's all the answer you'll ever get out of him, Mrs. Lowell. He's the champion don't-know-er."
The boy's blank look continued the same. It was evident that his uncle's description of him was nothing new.
"I don't believe that," said Mrs. Lowell. "I think Bertie and I are going to be friends. I like boys."
The look she was giving the lad as she spoke seemed for a moment to attract his attention.
"You won't—you won't like me," he said in his usual wooden manner.
"Children and fools," laughed his uncle, rising from the hammock.