“Sure thing!” Jimsy pointed to the ducks. “Has ’em competin’ for him. Keeps ’em a-guessing. That’s his game.”
It stunned me for a second. Of course he didn’t know that the valley had talked to me.
“Why, how do you do?” cried May, cheerfully, coming out of the house.
Then I took it all in and I broke into scandalous, irredeemable laughter.
A bright flash came into Jimsy’s eyes as he took it all in—then he also gave way, but he blushed heavily.
“Whatever are you two laughing at?” exclaimed May. She looked radiant. That clear note was all melted from her voice. “Mr. Le Moyne, aren’t you going to stay to dinner?”
“Why, thank you!” said Scipio—polite, and embarrassed almost to stuttering.
To Sir Francis Jimsy gave the last piece of toast. It was a large one. If the drake was aware of the tie between Jimsy’s marital methods and his own, he betrayed it as little as he betrayed knowledge of all things which it is best never to notice.
Yes, I am grateful to the game laws. The next legislature made them intelligible.