“Yes, sir, and gone up to dress,” came back.
“Humph! Time she had,” growled the man, wetting the lead of his pencil. “I dunno what she wanted to go out biking for on a morning like this. I’d ha’ biked her, if I’d seen her going.”
There was an interval of writing. Then more grumbling—
“Might have attended to the business a bit as she is at home, and me up to my eyes in work. Humph! That’s right.”
Another entry was made.
“Blest if I can recklect so well as I used. Blow bikes! Why, they’ll be wanting to run races with ’em next, and—Mornin’, doctor; ain’t seen yer for months.”
“Morning, Sam. No; I’ve been away with my regiment. Here, someone, S. and B.”
This to the attendants in the bar, where he stopped for a few minutes discussing the cooling drink, while behind the landlord’s back he made a few quick entries in his book with a metallic pencil.
“Dear old Hilt,” he said to himself. “I was just in time. Got on for him, so that he ought to be pretty warm by to-night. How’s the little star, Sam?” he cried, turning back.
“Oh, she’s all right, sir, thank ye.”