“I appreciate that compliment,” he flashed back at her, “but unfortunately my holidays are over for a long, long time. I took my father's place in the business this morning.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. Things have been happening while I was away. However, speaking of fishing, George Sea Otter will prove an invaluable instructor. He is a good boy and you may trust him implicitly. On Thursday evening you can tell me what success you had with the salmon.”
“Oh, that reminds me, Mr. Cardigan. You can't come Thursday evening, after all.” And she explained the reason.
“By Jove,” he replied, “I'm mighty glad you tipped me off about that. I couldn't possibly remain at ease in the presence of a banker-particularly one who will not lend me money.”
“Suppose you come Wednesday night instead.”
“We'll call that a bet. Thank you.”
She chuckled at his frank good humour. “Thank YOU, Mr Cardigan, for all your kindness and thoughtfulness; and if you WILL persist in being nice to me, you might send George Sea Otter and the car at one-thirty. I'll be glad to avail myself of both until I can get a car of my own sent up from San Francisco. Till Wednesday night, then. Good-bye.”
As Bryce Cardigan hung up, he heaved a slight sigh, and a parody on a quatrain from “Lalla Rookh” ran through his mind:
I never loved a dear gazelle, To glad me with its limpid eye, But when I learned to love it well, The gol-darned thing was sure to die!