"Oh, yes, I'll write to you," he said airily during one of these conversations; "that is, if I can find a minute to do it in. Of course I shall be pretty busy, with pantomimes, and theaters, and parties, and—and the Zoo, and all that."
"Fudge," said James calmly; "you'll be homesick as a cat before you've been there a week."
"Then when I get tired of that I may go to school—if I feel like it. Aunt Miriam says she knows of one that would just do. Not Eton or Rugby, or anything like that; a school for younger boys. This one is in a beautiful big house, Aunt Miriam says, with lots of grounds and things about. Park, you know, like Windsor. And deer in it. And the house was built in the reign of Charles the First."
"Bet you don't even know when that was. What's the use in having that kind of place for a school, anyway?"
"St. Barnabas," replied Harry with hauteur, "was built in the reign of Queen Victoria."
"Queen nothing! Gosh, if you talk rot like this now, what'll you be when you've been over there a while?"
"Then I may go to Eton, or one of those places, later." This was merely to bring a rise; Harry had no idea of completing his education anywhere but at St. Barnabas'.
"Yes, a fine time you'd have there! A fine time you'd have with those kids. Lords, Dukes, and things. Gosh, wouldn't you be sick of them, and oh, but they'd be sick of you!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Harry; "good fellows, lords. Some of them, that is. I might be made one myself, in time, who knows?"
"Yes, you might, mightn't you?" James was laughing now. "Nothing more likely, I should think. Lord Harry, Earl Harry!"