“Now, that’s a good un. Hold hard, sir”—as the intruder made to walk round him—“my orders is to allow no one on the premises! Your name’s Oliphant, you said? Well, you can’t be a neighbour, ’cos the only neighbour I knows of is Lord Langside.”
“He’s my father.”
“But—Oliphant——”
“Exactly! Now, come along, my good fellow—I want to see your master.”
“He don’t want to see you, though. No you don’t; keep off, sir; my orders is to allow no one on the premises.”
Then began a little game of dodging, Timothy stepping in front of the intruder and stretching his arms like a cattle driver. In half a minute Raymond Oliphant gave it up.
“Really, this is too absurd,” he said good-temperedly. “I say, I’ll give you my word to stay here while you go and tell your master that I’d like to introduce myself to him.”
“Then you’ll stay a long time, ‘cos master’s in town and won’t be home till seven o’clock.”
“Well then, the driver of that aeroplane, whoever he is. Ah! here he comes, thank goodness!”
Tom was hastening across the field. He wore his usual working suit of blue alpaca; face and hands were much begrimed.