“Well,” said Reginald laughing, “I can hardly fancy Horace the head of the family.”
“Must be a rum sensation,” said Harker, “to be an heir and not have to bother your head about how you’ll get your bread and butter some day. How many hundred millions of pounds is it you’ll come in for, Reg? I forget.”
“What a humbug you are!” said Reginald; “my father’s no better off than a lot of other people.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it, anyhow,” said Blandford.
And here the conversation ended.
The boys lay basking in the sun waiting for Horace’s return. He was unusually long in coming.
“Seems to me,” said Blandford, “he’s trying how long he can be instead of how quick—for a variety.”
“Just like him,” said Reginald.
Five minutes passed away, and ten, and fifteen, and then, just as the boys were thinking of stirring themselves to inquire what had become of him, they heard his steps returning rapidly down the gravel walk.
“Well,” cried Reginald, without sitting up, “have you got them at last?”