"Wot's your name?" he inquired.
"Val Gano. What's yours?"
"Jerry—I mean, Jerningham Otway."
"That your house?"
She climbed upon the fence and distinguished glimpses through the bushes of an imposing place beyond.
"Yes," he answered; "and we got a bank over the river."
This eliciting nothing, he went on, genially:
"You can fire a ball 'bout as well as a boy!"
"I should hope so."
"My sister can't, and she's a year older 'n me. Most girls can't, and they're all awful mad they wasn't born boys."