"From 10 till 4," interposed the grave Hank.
"From 10 till 4," accepted the other, "which are my office hours."
"For duking," explained Hank.
"Exactly—for duking," said his grace.
Willie looked from one to the other.
"I say!" he blurted, "you're pulling my leg, aren't you? I say! you're rotting me."
"I told you so," murmured the Duke resentfully, "Hank, he thinks I'm rotting—he's certain I'm pulling his leg, Hank."
Hank said nothing.
Only he shook his head despairingly, and taking the other's arm, they continued their walk, their bowed shoulders eloquent of their dejection.
Willie watched them for a moment, then turned and sped homeward with the news.