“Suppose he was lame and it was sloshy, and he made a call and came back. How long would that take?” asked Jill impatiently.
“Well, in that case, I should say two or three hours. But it's impossible to tell exactly, unless you know how lame the fellow was, and how long a call he made,” said Frank, who liked to be accurate.
“Jack couldn't do it in less, could he?”
“He used to run up that hilly road for a breather, and think nothing of it. It would be a long job for him now, poor little chap, for his leg often troubles him, though he hates to own it.”
Jill lay back and laughed, a happy little laugh, as if she was pleased about something, and Frank looked over his shoulder to ask questions in his turn.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Can't tell.”
“Why do you want to know about Hill District? Are you going there?”
“Wish I could! I'd soon have it out of him.”
“Who?”