"
"And when shall you go?" the boy asked.
"Directly I get a man out here I can trust and things are fixed with
his Majesty the King of Bekwando! We'll both go then, and you shall
spend a week or two with me in London."
The boy laughed.
"What a time we'll have!" he cried. "Say, do you know your way
round?"
Trent shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," he said. "You'll have to be my guide."
"Right you are," was the cheerful answer. "I'll take you to Jimmy's,
and the Empire, and down the river, and to a match at Lord's, and
to Henley if we're in time, and I'll take you to see my aunt!
You'll like her."
Trent nodded.
"I'll expect to," he said. "Is she anything like you?"
"Much cleverer," the boy said, "but we've been great chums all our
life. She's the cleverest woman ever knew, earns lots of money
writing for newspapers.
"Here, you've dropped your cigar, Trent."
Trent groped for it on the ground with shaking fingers.
"Writes for newspapers?" he repeated slowly. I wonder - her name
isn't Davenant, is it?"
The boy shook his head.
"No, she's my mother's cousin really - only I call her Aunty, we
always got on so. She isn't really much older than me, her name is
Wendermott - Ernestine Wendermott. Ernestine's a pretty name, don't
you think?"
Trent rose to his feet, muttering something about a sound in the
forest.
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