"You're wrong, Mr. Wild," said the vicar, taking his pipe out. "Work is the best thing. You'd realize it if you tried it. Of course, now you're on a holiday——"
"Am I?" said Tony. "I'm a kind of bear-leader to Bangs. I'm simply full-up with work, looking after him—arranging schemes for his comfort—keeping him out of mischief. Aren't I, Bangs?"
Robert smiled in a deprecating way. "You—you exaggerate a little. But—but——"
Mrs. Peters disliked the cynical frivolity Tony imparted to the conversation. "Would you mind telling us the nature of some of these arduous duties?" she asked coldly.
"Oh, there's a gay lot," said Tony, reflecting. "I've had to order lunch, for example: Bangs has no ideas. Then I organize walks ... and deal the hands at piquet in the evenings ... and ... by jove, yes! I promised to help him telephone to-day, if you wouldn't mind?"
"Not a bit," said the vicar, the sole possessor of a telephone in Shereling. He rose and stretched himself. "Come along now."
But Robert remained in his chair, looking decidedly uneasy. "No, no!" he said with a frightened manner. "It is nothing. It will keep for a day or two. There is really no necessity...." He began to stammer and blush, aware of the eye of Mrs. Peters.
"You promised!" said Tony reproachfully. Then turning to the lady he said, "Come, Mrs. Peters! You can't say that I lack energy now! Here am I, thirsting to get work, and old Bangs keeps me back. And only yesterday he said that nothing on earth should prevent him from at last—at long last——"
"All right," interrupted Robert, in terror of what Tony would say next. "Come along! Come along! Where is the telephone, Mr. Peters?"
"In the dining-room," replied the vicar, wondering. "I'll show you the way."