He looked curiously at his nephew, who, after a glance across the pool, had involuntarily stretched out one hand to grip his elder’s arm.
“Do you hear me, sir?” he cried sharply. “Why did you pinch my arm like that?”
The boy, whose face had looked rather white the moment before, flushed scarlet, and stammered out something confused and strange.
“Why, hullo, boy!” cried his uncle sharply, and he leaned forward in turn and caught the lad by the wrist. “Why, what’s the matter with you? Haven’t been overdoing it in the sun, have you? Here, take my cup and have a glass of water.”
“No, no, uncle; I am quite right. There’s nothing the matter with me. It’s—it’s—it’s—”
“It’s what?” said Uncle Paul sharply, as he gazed full in the boy’s eyes and held tightly by his wrist. “Well, it’s what?”
“Perhaps I am a bit tired, uncle. I have been working very hard, and I turned faint and hungry a little while ago.”
“Humph!” grunted Uncle Paul. “Then do as I tell you. Drink a cup of that clear cold water.”
“That’s better,” he continued, a few minutes later. “Now eat another sandwich. No nonsense, sir! Do as I tell you!”
The boy sighed and helped himself to another of the double slices and their contents, and for the next few minutes no word was spoken, the pair sitting opposite to one another and munching or ruminating steadily away, the younger feeling as if every mouthful of which he partook would choke him.