“No, she isn’t,” he repeated, blowing a kiss out of the window to maidens. “Why, we started for Wiltshire on the wet morning!”
“When Stewart found us at Sawston railway station?” He smiled happily. “I never thought we should pull through.”
“Well, we DIDN’T. We never did what we meant. It’s nonsense that I couldn’t have managed you alone. I’ve a notion. Slip out after your dinner this evening, and we’ll get thundering tight together.”
“I’ve a notion I won’t.”
“It’d do you no end of good. You’ll get to know people—shepherds, carters—” He waved his arms vaguely, indicating democracy. “Then you’ll sing.”
“And then?”
“Plop.”
“Precisely.”
“But I’ll catch you,” promised Stephen. “We shall carry you up the hill to bed. In the morning you wake, have your row with old Em’ly, she kicks you out, we meet—we’ll meet at the Rings!” He danced up and down the carriage. Some one in the next carriage punched at the partition, and when this happens, all lads with mettle know that they must punch the partition back.
“Thank you. I’ve a notion I won’t,” said Rickie when the noise had subsided—subsided for a moment only, for the following conversation took place to an accompaniment of dust and bangs. “Except as regards the Rings. We will meet there.”