“I don’t know,” Wally answered, patiently. “He isn’t a duke, anyhow. Where did you people get your soaring ideas?”
“From a lame chauffeur who seemed to think you were getting a great deal more than you deserved——” Jim began.
“That’s what I’m getting now!” said Wally.
“Well, he said you had gone off in the mothor to the big house. We inferred from his tone that it was not merely big, but enormous. The master had tuk you, he said; we further gathered that you might come back when the master had finished with you. It sounded rather like Jack and the Giant, and if we had known who had kidnapped you we might have organized a search party. As we didn’t, we caught trout—lots of ’em.”
“Did you, indeed?” said Wally, with open envy. “Lucky beggars—I wish I had!”
“And you rioting in baronial halls!” said Norah. “Some people don’t know when they are well off.”
“If we let Wally have a word in edgeways for a few minutes we might find out a little more about the baronial halls,” said Mr. Linton. “Tell us what happened to you, Wally. Was it a duke?”
“It was not—only a poor hump backed chap with some sort of a handle to his name. He’s Sir John O’Neill, and he has a lovely place; but you never saw a man with less ‘frill,’ ” Wally remarked. “Simple as anyone could be. And I don’t think I’ve ever been so sorry for anyone.”
“Is he badly crippled?” Jim asked.
“No—only he seems awfully delicate, and subject to beastly fits of illness. He’s got any amount of pluck—rides and shoots and fishes, and has motored half over the world. But of course he’s terribly handicapped; the wonder is that he has done half as much.”