"Poor!" laughed Toppleton; "there's none of them in the Rockies. You don't get a chance to get poor in a country where boys throw nuggets at birds, and cats are removed from back-yard fences with silver boot-jacks. Ever been in the Rockies, Barncastle?"
"No," returned the lord, "I have not, but if all you say is true, I should like to visit that section very much."
"True, Barncastle?" said Toppleton, bristling up. "Why, my dear lord, that if of yours would have dug your grave out near Pike's Peak."
"I meant no offence, my dear fellow," returned Barncastle, apologetically.
"No need to tell me that," said Toppleton, affably. "The fact that you still survive shows I knew it. What time is dinner? I'm ravenous."
"Eight o'clock," replied Lord Barncastle, looking at his watch. "It is now only three."
"Phew!" ejaculated Toppleton. "Five hours to wait!"
"I thought we might take a little drive around the country until six, and then we could return to the Hall and make ready for dinner," said Barncastle.
"That suits me," returned Toppleton. "But I wish you'd send that gentleman with the mutton-chop whiskers that drives your waggon to the lunch counter and get me a snack before we start."
"No," said Barncastle, ushering Toppleton into his dog-cart. "We'll do better than that. We'll give up the drive until later. I take you directly to the Hall, and send a cold bird and a glass of wine to your apartment."