nd had better--for the
present at least--be conciliated.

So the two went out arm in arm for a stroll--the first of many they took
during their fortnight's sojourn in town.

The news from Maxfield became unpleasingly damping. Here, for instance,
is a letter the doting father received from his son and heir a week
after Ratman's arrival.

"Dear Pater,--Isn't it fizzing that old Roger is pretty nearly out of
the wood? The fever's come down like anything, and he's getting quite
chirpy. I can't fancy how a chap can hang on at all with nothing to eat
but milk. It wouldn't fill up my chinks. If ever I get a fever, keep
me going on beefsteak and mashed potatoes. It's been a great lark
having no lessons. Armstrong's forgotten my existence, I think. He and
Rosalind have regular rows about sitting up with him--I mean Roger, and
Rosalind generally has to cave in. It does her good to cave in now and
then. Armstrong's the only one can make her. I can't; nor can
Brandram. Brandram's a stunner. I drive him in and out of Yeld every
day, and he's up to no end of larks. And now Roger's pulling round,
he's as festive as an owl. Jill's in jolly dumps because she's out of
it all. Rosalind sits on her and tells her she's too much of a kid to
be any good; and she doesn't get much change out of Armstrong. So she
has to knock about with me all day, which is awful slow. I say, go and
see Christy's Minstrels when you're in town, and get them to let
Jockabilly do the break-down. It will make you split. If that French
chap is hanging about, tip him a bob for me and be civil to him, because
he was decent enough to me. Auntie Eva said something about your
bringing a gentleman home with you. I hope he's a jolly sort of chap.
Rosalind's temper is all anyhow. When I told her a visitor was coming,
she shut me up with a regular flea in my ear. Never mind, she's been a
brick to old Roger and Auntie Eva, so we must make allowances. Old
Hodder calls up nearly every day to ask after us all. He's grown quite
young since he was left alone in his cottage, and Armstrong came down
like a sack of coals on that beast Pottinger. My dear father, if you
would like to know what I most hope you'll bring home for me, it's a
football--Rugby--for the coming winter. Armstrong's promised to coach
me in the drop kick. Can you do it? I shall be glad to see you home,
as I'm jolly low in pocket-money, besides the affection one feels for
those who a