His laugh ended in a fit of coughing, which left him trembling. Norah patted him anxiously, watching him with troubled eyes.
“Don’t you talk too much, or we’ll get sent away,” she warned him. “We’ll do the talking—dad and I. We’ve heaps to tell you: and such jolly plans.”
“You have to make haste and get better,” said Mr. Linton, looking from one white face to the other. “Then we’re going to take possession of you.”
“Kitchener will do that, I guess,” said Wally.
“No, Kitchener won—not until you’re quite fit. You’ll be handed over to us, and it will be our job to get you thoroughly well. And Norah and I have agreed that it can’t be done in London.”
“So we’re all going to Ireland,” said Norah, happily.
“Ireland!” Jim uttered.
“Yes. You’re sure to get leave, so that you can be thoroughly repaired. We’re going to find some jolly place in Donegal, where it’s quiet and peaceful, and we’re all going to buy rods and find out how to catch trout. Brown trout,” said Norah, learnedly. “We know all about it, because we bought ever so many guide-books and studied them all last night.”
“I say!” ejaculated both patients as one man.
“It sounds rather like Heaven,” said Jim, drawing a long breath. “Do you really think it can be managed, dad?”