“What will he be with the young women!” he commented, to himself, amusedly.
Then he asked the question that was consuming Mrs. Kipley:
“Ned, are those clothes the style in Paris?”
The boy swung himself lightly into the big armchair beside the bed.
“They’re the badge of my craft, sir,” he said, good-humoredly, settling the soft cravat with deft fingers. “Don’t you like them?”
“Oh, I like them,” said John Carrington. (“Handsome lad!” he was whispering to himself, proudly.) “But I was wondering how they would strike Yellow Dog, that’s all.”
“There did seem to be some little interest in my arrival,” the lad admitted, gleefully.
“Sakes alive! They beat anything I ever see in all my life!” Mrs. Kipley communed with herself.
“And Elenore?” said John Carrington. “How did you leave Elenore?”
The boy stirred slightly in his chair.