"That's all," repeated Stillwater, putting his feet up on the rustic railing.
"And another thing," Glen lowered his voice, "I suppose Mrs. Bunker's been getting in some of her fine work."
Stillwater winked. "You can depend on that. Hi, Flash!" Flash ran up, the bottles in the lunch-basket he carried rattling loudly. He bowed obsequiously, out of breath, as he neared the camp. "What sport?"
"Magnificent, sir! Partridges as thick as rabbits! Their lordships and the young lady h'is a coming, sir."
"That'll do," as Flash stood bowing and scraping. "I can't stand the crawling ways of these English servants," remarked Stillwater.
"Neither can I," said Glen.
"Well, Mr. Flash, look where you're going!" exclaimed Kitty, as Flash ran precipitately against her.
"Miss Kitty!"—he bowed exaggeratedly—"ten thousand pardons!"
"Give an account of yourself! Where are the folks?"
"They're h'on the lake. We 'ad a fine day's sport! I've never seen 'is lordship in good temper for twelve consecutive hours before. And their h'appetites, bless 'em!"—Flash whirled the basket in the air—"the h'eatables 'ave vanished and they've drained the bottles!"