“Are you sure of that?” Ordway glanced inquiringly at Bert. “He’s wrong, eh?”
“Yes, the next one doesn’t go until seven-five. If he wants to get this one he will have to hustle. It’s a good ten minutes’ walk to the station.”
“Thanks. This gentleman’s right, Bowles. You’d better start along. You know your way, eh? Tell mother I’m quite all right; everything’s very jolly.” The boy walked to the door with the man and pulled a leather purse from his pocket. “Better treat yourself to a bit of a jinks when you get to town. You’ll have four hours to wait, you know. Good-by, Bowles.”
“Thank you, Master Hugh. Good-by, sir. I hung the coat in the closet, sir, and the keys are on the dresser.”
“Right, Bowles. Now beat it or you’ll miss that train. Good-by.”
Ordway sauntered back to the study, smiling. “Bowles always gets time-tables twisted,” he chuckled. “Rum chap that way. Bet you anything you like he will miss that train.”
“He’s got twelve minutes,” said Bert. “Is he a—a servant?”
“Bowles? Yes, he’s been looking after me ever since I was out of the nursery. He’s a little bit of all right, Bowles.” Ordway seated himself on the farther end of the seat, looked interestedly about the campus, no longer silent and empty, and finally turned his gaze to Bert. Again the color crept into his cheeks and he said diffidently, almost stammeringly:
“I say, Winslow, I hope you’re going to like me, you know.”