Mr. Bonstone and Walt soon got him down, carried him to the car, and gave him a drink from a flask that Mrs. Bonstone had provided. Then they rushed him to the Green Hill house which was nearer than Mrs. Waverlee’s, and put him to bed.
All the family came to enquire about him. Mrs. Waverlee was very much troubled in her quiet way, and poor Egbert was trying hard not to cry. Master, who was almost as upset as Sir Edward’s own family, said to Mrs. Resterton, “Why in the name of common sense did that old man with a wooden leg try to climb a tree on a dark night?”
Mrs. Resterton was dreadfully flushed, and was fanning herself violently. “You have just come from town,” she said, “you don’t know that it was quite light when Sir Edward started, and you don’t understand how crazy he is about fishing. He is always studying those books on angling in the library.”
“I’m not fond of fishing,” said master, “so I don’t share his enthusiasm, but what I do like about the affair is the part my poor boy Walt has played.”
“He certainly tracked Sir Edward,” said Mrs. Resterton, “but for him, Sir Edward might have died before Norman found him.”
“She got the baronet’s title in twice that time,” snickered Gringo who was lying beside me at Mrs. Resterton’s feet. Then he began to pant nervously, for the old dog’s sympathies had been aroused, and he had tramped fast all through the woods with his master and Walt.
“Well,” I said to him, “isn’t this a queer world? Seems as if when a dog or a man does a kind deed, he always gets his pay for it.”
Gringo stopped panting long enough to say, “Sure, and it’s my wonder that when folks are so keen for rewards, they don’t do more good. There’s big interest on being decent.”
“They’ll do something handsome for Walt,” I said
“You bet,” returned Gringo. “His nest won’t want for no feathers from this out.”