They gave him a
decent handicap, and he simply romped home. That chap can run, Mabel.
He tried the sack race, too, but the first time he slipped altogether
inside the thing and had to be taken out, yelling. But he stuck to it
like a Trojan, and at the second shot he got started all right, and
would have won it if he hadn't lost his head and rolled down a bank. He
isn't scratched much, considering he fell among whins. That also
explains the state of his hat."
"George, you shall never, never, as long as I live, take my son out with
you again. It is a wonder the poor child escaped with his life. You
have not a scrap of feeling. I must take the boy away or he will shame
me before everybody. Come and talk to Mrs. Andrews, George. May I
introduce my brother, Mr. Winterham?"
George, who wanted to smoke, sat down unwillingly in the chair which his
sister had left. The lady, whose airs and graces were all for men, put
on her most bewitching manner.
"Your sister and I have just been talking about this exquisite place,
Mr. Winterham. It must be delightful to live in such a centre of old
romance. That lovely 'Riding of Etterick' has been running in my head
all the way up."
George privately wondered at the confession. The peculiarly tragic and
ghastly fragments which made up "The Riding of Etterick," seemed
scarcely suited to haunt a lady's memory.
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