Mr. Merryweather's reply was inarticulate, and its tone caused his wife to begin hastily a series of inquiries for the visitor's family.
The twins and Jack Ferrers walked slowly down the slip in the rain. No one spoke till they reached the float; then Gerald said slowly: "Sapolio—Saccarappa—Sarcophagus—Squedunk!"
"Feel better?" asked his brother, sympathetically.
"There is one thing," said Gerald, still speaking slowly and emphatically, "that I wish, in this connection, distinctly understood. Indoors he is safe: hospitality—salt—Arabs—that kind of thing. But if in the immediate proximity of the cleansing flood"—he waved his hand toward the lake—"he continues to patronize the parents, in he goes! I have spoken!"
"I should not presume to restrain my half-hour elder!" said Phil. "Jack, I'm afraid we shall have to put this curled darling in your tent. It's only for the night, fortunately."
"Oh! of course! delighted!" said Jack, somewhat embarrassed.
"Very, very, very, eh?" said Phil. "Oh! what's the use of making believe, with any one we know so well as you? It's a nuisance, and we don't pretend it isn't."
"Mark my words, John Ferrers!" broke in Gerald. "We mean to be civil to this youth. He is our second cousin, and we know it. He is also a blooming, blossoming, burgeoning Ass, and he doesn't know it. They seldom do. We mean, I say, to be civil to him, barring patronage of the parents. He has been our thorn, and we have borne him—at intervals, mercifully not too short—all our lives. But we aren't going to pretend that we love him, because we don't. No more doesn't he love us.
"The love that's lost between us
Is not the love for me;
But there's a flood both fair and broad,
In which I'd duck my charming Claud
As gladly as could be!"
* * * * * * *