"All this he did, Ma," explained Walter to his mother afterward, "before you could say Jack Robinson. And in between he was scolding all the time about the weather and saying how idiotic it was to leave a warm, comfortable city like New York and come to a damp hole like the Cape."
"Is this the best day you could manage to get together, Jerry?" growled he. "Pretty beastly, I call it."
"It certainly is wet, sir."
"Wet! I should say it was! It's infernally wet! How long is it going to keep up like this?"
"I can't say, sir."
"Well, you have the sun out to-morrow or I shall go straight back where I came from. Little old New York is good enough for me when the place looks like this."
At that instant he espied His Highness lurking near a distant window.
"Who are you, young man?" he called.
"Walter King, sir."
"Oh, the young chap who is going to look after the dogs?"