"I don't see what that has to do with it," Norah said, plainly puzzled.
"Why, don't you understand? If they hatched I must have lost them along with the others; but if they didn't hatch, I didn't lose so many, for, not having them to lose, I couldn't very well lose them, could I? Q.E.D.!" finished Wally, triumphantly. "That's Philosophy!"
"You're a credit to your teachers, old man," said a new voice; and Jim made his appearance behind the fence, over which he proceeded to climb laboriously.
"Yes, I'm a nice boy," said modest Mr. Meadows. "Sometimes I think you don't appreciate me—"
"Perish the thought!" said Jim, solemnly.
"But I always feel that honest worth will tell in the end," finished Wally. "Jim, you great, uncivilized rogue, unhand me!" There was a strenuous interlude, during which the Leghorn chicks fled shrieking to the farthest corner of their domain. Finally Jim stepped unwittingly, in the joy of battle, into the kerosene tin, which was fortunately empty, and a truce was made while he scraped from a once immaculate brown leather legging the remains of the Leghorns' breakfast.
"Serve you right," said Wally, adjusting his tie, which had mysteriously appeared under his right ear. "Norah and I were talking beautifully, and you hadn't any business to come poke your nose in, if you couldn't behave, had he Nor.?" Whereat Norah and Jim grinned cheerfully at each other, and Wally collapsed, remarking with indignation that you couldn't hope to get justice for either of the Linton twins when it came to dealing with the other.
"We're not twins!" said Norah.
"No," said her guest, "I think you're worse!" Withdrawing, he sat in melancholy isolation on a hen coop, and gave himself up, very appropriately, to brooding.
"Well, I'm sorry if I broke up the party," Jim said, relinquishing the task of polishing his leggings with marshmallow leaves and looking at its streaked surface disconsolately. Jim might—and did—scorn coats and waistcoats in the summer, and revel in soft shirts and felt hats; but his riding equipment was a different matter, and from Garryowen's bit and irons to his own boots, all had to be in apple pie order. "Norah, may I have your hanky to rub this up? No? You haven't one! Well, I'm surprised at you!" He rubbed it, quite ineffectually, with the crown of his hat, and still looked pained. "Never mind, I'll get hold of some tan stuff when I go in. What I came to say when you attacked me, young Wally—"