"Of course I am, sir. I should like to get it, too. And I don't say I shan't," he concluded, laughing.
"Why, what did those young simpletons mean, then?" cried the knight. "I met a lot of them just now, and Dick Loftus whispered to me you were not going up for the Orville."
"It is a mistake," said George. "Not that I should go up if the fellows could prevent me. But they can't, you know, sir. Good-bye, Sir Simon."
Sir Simon went on, the matter passing from his mind. Turning into his own grounds, he had been busying himself for some time amidst his cherished autumn flowers, when a servant came out, having apparently just seen him from the house.
"A gentleman is waiting to see you, Sir Simon."
"Bless me," cried Sir Simon, who was too kindhearted, too simple-minded ever to keep people waiting unnecessarily, gentle or simple. "Who is it, Thomas?"
"I don't know, sir. He came in a cab with a portmanteau. He looks like a traveller."
Sir Simon went trotting off as fast as his short legs would go. The servant went after him.
"It is not Mr. Loftus, Thomas, I suppose? You'd know him."
"Oh dear no, sir, it's not Mr. Loftus. It is somebody older than Mr. Loftus."