“Both perhaps. Neglected books while training for the big game, then broke down cramming for midwinter exams.”
“Like London?”
“No, I think it’s beastly.”
The Englishman laughed. “That doesn’t sound American. What place do you like better?”
“Tunkett, Massachusetts.” Then it was the turn of the lad to laugh. “That place, of course, means nothing to you. It isn’t even on the map. Just a fishing hamlet.”
The viscount leaned forward and with the iron tongs moved the position of the log that it might burn faster.
His next remark astonished the lad, who thought he never had met a man he liked better.
“Come over here, Gene Beavers, and spend a week with me; or, better still, we might take a hiking trip through Scotland.”
“Honest Injun?” The lad’s face glowed eagerly, boyishly.
“Honest Injun.”