Val nodded familiarly.
"Hot day, Charley. Going to be a thunder-storm, I take it. By the way, she'll have an ugly night for her journey."
"Who will?"
"Little Cherrie, of course; she's off to Greentown, man! Didn't you know it? I was down at the station ten minutes ago, and saw her off. How's the mother?"
"Getting better. Good afternoon, Val," said Charley, passing on, and smiling at the news Mr. Blake had told him.
"What a clever head the little darling has to put them off the scent! Hallo, what do you want?"
Some one had shouted after him; and turning round, he saw Master Bill Blair, his hands in his pockets, his hat cocked on one side of his head, following at an extremely leisurely pace.
"I want you to hold on. I'll go part of the way with you, for I'm going home to tea," replied Mr. Blair, not hurrying himself. "It's hot enough to roast an ox, it is. You don't suppose the sky has got the jaundice, do you; it is turned as yellow as a kite's claw."
"You had better send up and inquire," said Charley, shortly, preferring his own thoughts to this companionship.
"I say, Marsh," said Bill, grinning from ear to ear, "Cherrie's gone, hasn't she? Good riddance, I say. What took her streaking off to Greentown, and whatever will you do without her?"