Graeme kept out of sight among the other crowders of the quay till the bowler hat came bobbing up the gangway. Then he smote its owner so jovially on the shoulder that his monocle shot the full length of its cord and the hat came within an ace of tumbling overboard. "Hello, Pixley! This _is_ good of you. You're just in time to give us your blessing." "Aw! Hello!" said Charles Svendt, agape at the too friendly greeting. "That you, Graeme?" "The worst half of me, my boy. Margaret's up at the house. You'll be quite a surprise to her." "Aw!" said Charles Svendt thoughtfully, as he readjusted his eyeglass. "Demned queer place, this!" and he gazed round lugubriously. "It is that, my boy. Queerer than you think, and queerer people." "Aw! Is there any--aw--place to stop at?" "Thinking of stopping over night? Oh yes, several very decent hotels." "Aw! Which are you at yourself now?" "I? Oh, I'm a resident. I've got a house here." "Dooce you have! Well, now, where would you stop if you were me?" "Well, if I were you I should stop at the Old Government House--" "Right! Whereabouts is it?" "It's over in Guernsey. Boat returns at five sharp." "Aw! Quite so! Very good! But I've got--er--business here, don't you know." "Oh? Thinking of opening a branch here? Well, there's Stock's--but I doubt if you'd fit in there--" "Fit? Why not fit? Stocks are my line." "I think I'd try the Bel-Air if I were you--" "Which is nearest?" asked Charles Svendt, looking round depreciatively. "Bel-Air. Just along the tunnel there--" "Good Lord! Along the tunnel--" "Excuse me for a moment. I've got some things coming by this boat. I must see to them," and Graeme sped away to attend to his frivolities. XI "And what special business brings you to Sark, Pixley?" asked Graeme, as they passed through the tunnel of rock and climbed the steep way of the Creux--its high banks masses of ferns, its hedges ablaze with honeysuckle and roses, its trees interwoven into a thick canopy overhead,--a living green tunnel shot with quivering sunbeams. All of which was lost on Charles Svendt, whose chest was going like a steam-pump and whose legs were quivering with the unusual strain. Graeme regretted that he had not been landed on the ladders at Havre Gosselin, where he himself came ashore. He would dearly have liked to follow the portly one up those ladders and heard his comments. In reply to Graeme's question he shook his head mutely and staggered on--past the upper reaches, where the corded roots of the overhanging trees came thrusting through the banks like twisting serpents; past the wells of sweet water that lay dark and still below, and ran over into the road, and trickled away down the sides in little streams; out into the sunshine and the quickening of the breeze;--till he dropped exhausted into a chair outside the door of the Bel-Air.