"Yes, this train is usually pretty punctual," Guy answered, and for a minute or two after a self-conscious hand-shake they talked about trains, each, as it seemed, trying to throw upon the other the responsibility of any conversation that might have promoted their ease.
Guy introduced his father to Godbold, who greeted him with a kind of congratulatory respect and assumed towards Guy a manner that gave the impression of sharing with Mr. Hazlewood in his paternity.
"Hope you're going to pay us a good long visit," said Godbold, hospitably, flicking the pony.
Mr. Hazlewood, who, squashed as he was between Guy and fat Godbold, looked more sapless than ever, said he proposed to stay until the day after to-morrow.
"Then you won't see us play Shipcot on Saturday, the last match of the season?" said Godbold in disappointed benevolence.
"No, I sha'n't, I'm afraid. You see, my son is not so busy as I am."
"Ah, but he's been very busy lately. Isn't that right, Mr. Hazlewood?" Godbold chuckled, with a wink across at Guy. "Well, we've all been expecting it for some time past and he has our good wishes. That he has. As sweetly pretty a young lady as you'll see in a month of Sundays."
His father shrank perceptibly from a dominical pre-vision so foreign to his nature, and Guy changed the conversation by pointing out features in the landscape.
"Extraordinarily inspiring sort of country," he affirmed.
"So I should imagine," said his father. "Though precisely what that epithet implies I don't quite know."