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Seeing that Tootles was in one of her ecstatic moods and was deaf to remarks, Irene saved her words to cool her porridge and watched the incoming yawl. She did so at first without much interest. It was merely a sailboat to her city eyes, and her good lines and good management meant nothing. But as she came nearer something familiar in the cut of the man at her helm caught her attention.
"You'll ketch 'em!" "Whip up!" "She's a goer, she is!" said the ostler boy. "Strike me giddy!" cried old Tootles. "Here! I'm a-goin' to begin in a minute. Here's another comin'. If all the kebs in Hampstead aint gone mad this morning!" "It's a fieldmale this time," said the ostler boy. "She's a followin' him" said old Tootles. "Usually the other way about." "What's she got in her 'and?"
A rush of tears came to Irene's eyes when she saw what he had written. She held out her hand, utterly giving up an attempt to find words. "Thank you for calling up," said Martin, doing his best to be perfectly natural and ordinary. "I wish you'd done so sooner. Poor old Tootles. Write to the Devon Yacht Club, Long Island, and let me know how you get on.
'Sit in father's chair, John! Wendy was scandalised. 'Certainly not. 'He is not really our father, John answered. 'He didn't even know how a father does till I showed him. This was grumbling. 'We complain of John, cried the twins. Tootles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them, indeed he was the only humble one, that Wendy was specially gentle with him.
To poor Egger fell the unpleasant duty of instructing these young Tootles in the elements of the French language. For that purpose he went up every morning to the class-room on the first floor, and for a while relieved Miss Enderby of her charge.
Brock sent telegrams for her from cities along the way, Ulm, Munich, Salzburg, and others, all meant for the real Roxbury in London, but sent to a fictitious being in Great Russell Street, the same having been agreed upon by at least two of the conspirators. It mattered little that she repeated herself monotonously in regard to the state of health of herself and Tootles.
"Tootles?" murmured Brock. "Tootles and Raggles. I daresay there's a distinction without much of a difference. Are you Burton?" "Yes, Mr. Medcroft. The nurse. Won't you take baby for a minute, sir? Just to get acquainted, and for appearance's sake." She whispered the well-meant entreaty. Brock, now well into the spirit of the situation, obligingly extended his arms.
As it was she flushed with pleasure and gave a little laugh. She was a thousandfold repaid for all her pains. But, during the first half of a meal made riotous by the invincible Howard and the animated Irene, Tootles sat very quiet and thoughtful and even a little awed.
"She wrote me a letter from your place and said she'd found out what song writers meant by the word heaven." "Did she?" said Martin. "I'm glad." It came to her in a flash that her little pal had fallen in love with this boy and instantly she understood the mystery of Tootles' change of method and point of view her moping, her relaxed grip on life. She meant almost nothing to the boy and knew it.
It was at the exact moment that Joan and Harry went together up the incline towards Martin's cottage at Devon, eyed by Tootles through the screen door, that Gilbert came back to the veranda and drew up short at the sight of his wife.
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