“Brute!” said Wally, with fervour.
“Aren’t you happy?” asked Jim, surprise in his tone. “You ought to be—I’ve never seen you look so nice! Will you bring me my boot, young Wally?”
“I will not,” said the victim, firmly. “Not if I stay here for a week!”
“The barbed wire will last longer than that,” said Jim, grinning. “Does it strike you, Dad, that the climbing novelty looks dry?”
“It’s more evident that it’s annoyed with you,” said David Linton, laughing. “Better bring him his boot, Wally—it’s his game, I think.”
“Never!” said the captive.
“Told you he was dry,” said Jim. “Look at that purple flush—doesn’t that indicate a need of cooling down?” He disappeared behind a clump of laurustinus, and returned armed with a coil of hose.
Norah gave a fresh burst of laughter. “Oh, Jimmy, you won’t!” she cried.
“Will I not?” grinned her brother, turning on the tap. A light shower of drops spattered the trunk near the victim’s head—with due regard for the safety of the dangling boot.
“My hat, Jimmy, when I get within reach of you——,” said Wally, laughing. “Put that down, you fiend, and fight fair!”