Ten minutes later he did speak again, to the great annoyance of Major Kent, who was estimating the total cost of the hay eaten by his polo ponies during the year—a most intricate business, for hay varied a good deal in price.
"Doyle's coming along the road in his trap," said Meldon, "and he looks to me very much as if he was coming here. He must want to see you about something. He can't possibly have any business with me."
"Hang Doyle!"
"If you like," said Meldon, "I'll deal with him and keep him off you. I should rather enjoy a chat with Doyle."
"Thanks. I wish you would. It can't be anything important."
"I expect he has come for your subscription for the illuminated address he and Dr. O'Donoghue are getting up for the police sergeant. I promised the other day that you'd give something. If you sign a cheque and stick it out on the window-sill, I'll fill up the amount and hand it on to Doyle. I should say that one pound would be a handsome contribution, and I may get you off with ten shillings. It'll all depend on how the money is coming in. He's turning in at the gate now, so you'd better hurry up.—Ah! Good morning, Doyle. Lovely day, isn't it? Seen anything of our friend Simpkins this morning?"
"I have not," said Doyle, "and I don't want to. I wouldn't care if I never set eyes on that fellow again."
"You'd have liked to have seen him yesterday," said Meldon.
"I would not."
"You would. The Major had him out for a day in the Spindrift, and—" Meldon winked.