“All right. I’ll wait for you here. Payne is keeping a court for me, so don’t be long.” Leon hurried off to Trow, and Jimmy turned inquiringly to Monty. “Who is the raven-tressed youth, Crail? What the dickens did you say his name was?”
“Desmarais. The accent——”
“Yes, but never mind that, laddie. Southerner, isn’t he? Won’t do to get him angry with me, will it? They’re a fiery lot, those southerners. Believe, though, southron is the proper word. How are you getting on? Sorry yet that you changed your mind about Mount Morris?”
“Not a bit, thanks. And I’m getting along very comfortably so far. I think I’m going to get downright fond of this place, Logan.”
“You bet you are,” said Jimmy seriously. “You’ll never regret following my advice and side-stepping Mount Morris, Crail.”
“Oh, did I do that?” asked Monty politely.
“Sure!” responded Jimmy without a quiver. “Don’t you remember? If you don’t you’re the only one,” he added with a chuckle, “because all the fellows I’ve told remember!”
“That’s all right,” Monty laughed. “You’re welcome to the credit.”
“Why haven’t you been around to see us? We’ve got the old sty fixed up corking now. Come and see it, and bring your friend Dejeuner, or whatever his name is. Listen; give me another lesson, will you? Go ahead: Des—Des——”
“Des—ma—ray. Say it quick and you won’t mind it.”