"Happen I will, sir—wi' the stock of a gun for salute. What!—going? Well, good neet, sir; good neet."
CHAPTER VI. THE RISING WIND.
They dined in the middle of the day at Marshcotes Manor, and they dined well. Mrs. Lomax, consequently, liked to have a clear hour's sleep in the afternoon—a luxury which Griff made the basis of one of those tender little accusations that were constantly passing between mother and son.
"And now, I suppose, you will want to reflect for awhile," he said, when Thursday's dinner was over and Mrs. Lomax had risen from the table.
"You need not put that ironical emphasis on the 'reflect,' Griff. I want to sleep, and am not ashamed to confess it."
"Yet you grumble when my work takes me away from you. I'm going to be jealous, too: I grudge you that wasted hour."
"Foolish boy! You may kiss me, if you like, just as a bribe to get rid of you. There, there; away you go. Are you going to ride?"
"Yes; for an hour or so."