“So do I,” murmured Lola in her low notes.
“If they don't,” said Dale, “I'll ask Raggles to give me an unpaid billet somewhere. But,” he added, with a sigh, “that will be an awful rotten game in comparison.”
“I'm afraid you won't make Raggles hum,” said I.
He laughed, rose and straddled across the hearthrug, his back to the fire.
“He'd throw me out if I tried, wouldn't he? But if they do adopt me—I swear I'll make you proud of me, Simon. I'll stick my soul into it. It's the least I can do in this horrid cuckoo sort of proceeding, and I feel I shall be fighting for you as well as for myself. My dear old chap, you know what I mean, don't you?”
I knew, and was touched. I wished him God-speed with all my heart. He was a clean, honest, generous gentleman, and I admired, loved and respected him as he stood there full of his youth and hope. I suddenly felt quite old and withered at the root of my being, like some decrepit king who hands his crown to the young prince. I rose to take my leave (for what advantage was there in staying?) and felt that I was abandoning to Dale other things beside my crown.
Lola's strong, boneless hand closed round mine in a more enveloping grip than ever. She looked at me appealingly.
“Shall I see you again before you go?”
“Before you go?” cried Dale. “Where are you off to?”
“Somewhere south, out of the fogs.”