“Surest thing you know! We’ll tell Jimmy and he’ll fix Bowles up downstairs. And he can sleep on the window-seat, if you like.”
“Oh, no, sir, thanking you, sir! I wouldn’t think of it, sir. I’m informed there’s a very comfortable inn in the village, sir.”
“Yes, that’s better,” agreed Hugh. “You can have your supper here and then stick around while the fun lasts. You see, Bowles, we’re due for a bit of a jolly rumpus tonight. This is the day we celebrate, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir, quite so. I—I witnessed the football contest, sir.”
“Oh, you did? And you saw Mr. Winslow make his touchdown? Well, say, Bowles, wasn’t that a little bit of all right?”
“Quite remarkable, sir! Yes, indeed, sir. A most clever bit of work, Mr. Winslow, if you’ll pardon my saying it.”
“Thanks, Bowles. I’m going to get into some clean togs, Hugh. It must be—Hello! Come in!”
Nick and Pop and Ted Trafford crowded through the door and for a minute confusion ruled. Then, while Pop and Ted held Bert captive in the Morris chair and playfully pummeled him, Nick’s voice arose above the tumult.
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend Bowler!” shouted Nick. “Bowler, old top, how’s everything at dear old Glyndestoke?” Nick was ringing Bowles’ hand enthusiastically and Bowles’ face was a study. “When did you leave the Manor, Bowler? Fellows, meet Mr. Bowler!”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” stammered the man, “Bowles, if you please, sir!”