“I must repeat I do not know,” reiterated Mrs Patrick.
“Oh, well, he’s only been that a little time, since the sports, you know, when old Wyndham left. I say, ma’am, are you going to be at the race on Wednesday?”
Mrs Patrick looked somewhat baffled as she replied,—
“I think it very possible.”
“It’ll be a jolly good race,” said Telson. “Old Parson is coxing Parrett’s, and it looks like a win for them. Only we aren’t so bad, and now Gilks is out of the boat and Riddell’s settled as cox we ought to make a race of it. Fairbairn’s quite as long a reach as Bloomfield, only he doesn’t kick his stretcher so hard—does he, Parson?”
“Rather not,” said Parson. “That’s where we get the pull of you; besides, I’m a lighter weight than Riddell, though he’s boiled down a good bit since he went into training.”
“Good deal depends on who gets the inside berth,” said Telson, delightfully oblivious of the bewildered Mrs Paddy’s presence. “It’s a jolly long swing round Willow Point for the outsiders—half a length at least.”
“Yes; but it’s just as bad round the corner at the finish the other way.”
“Ah! talking about the race, I see,” said the doctor, returning to the group at this point. “So, Telson, Riddell’s to steer your boat after all.”
“Yes, sir,” said Telson; “it’s settled now.”