Rayton laughed freely, but politely.
"Of course," he said. "I am a farmer—and I see what you mean. The business end of some propositions is like the hinder end of a wasp, isn't it? Hah-hah! But—if you don't mind—well, I don't see how we can put any business end to this. Ah—if you will be so kind as just to consider yourself my guest. Hope you don't think it cheeky of me!"
"Well! 'Pon my word, Mr. Rayton, you are very kind. Why should you befriend me like this? It is astonishing."
"Not at all. We can have some good talks, you see. I am a bit lonely, sometimes. It is all serene, isn't it? Good. Where are your traps? Come along."
So they turned and walked side by side along the road and across the empty fields to Rayton's house. Mr. Banks glanced frequently and wonderingly at his new friend. Never before, in all his wide and active life, had his confidence been captured so quickly.
"And he seems to take me quite as a matter of course," he reflected.
That afternoon the two new friends, with Turk's assistance, shot a few brace of woodcocks and grouse, in quiet swales and corners around the outskirts of the farm. Then, together, they cooked supper. Shortly after supper, while they were playing a game of chess, and smoking two of Mr. Banks' long and superior cigars, old Captain Wigmore knocked on the front door, and entered without waiting for it to be opened for him. Rayton welcomed him as affably as if they had last parted on the most polite terms. He introduced the small old man to the big middle-aged one.
"We have met before," said the captain.
"Yes, I knew Captain Wigmore last year," said Banks.
Wigmore accepted a cigar from the New Yorker's bulging case.