That study up there was a very attractive room now. Hugh had not brought a great deal with him in the way of pictures, but what he had brought were interesting and, as Nick said, gave tone. Bert’s wall decorations ran to “shingles” and framed posters, although he was the proud possessor of a good etching of sheep by Monks, and a rather jolly coaching print. Then there was a six-foot silk banner of vivid scarlet, with the word “Grafton” in gray letters, along one wall, and a captured Mount Morris pennant, green and white, and showing battle marks, over the window-seat. The pillows were the usual strange collections of all hues and styles, many of them, of course, running to scarlet-and-gray. Hugh’s contributions were photographs, some quite large and all handsomely framed. The one that produced the most interest on the part of visitors was the picture of his home in England. It was just like the baronial manors and lordly castles you read about, Nick declared, and when he got enormously rich he was going to buy one just like it. It was a stone building, with the stones set in a peculiarly haphazard fashion, and it rambled over the best part of an acre, or seemed to. There were turrets and battlements, and much very orderly ivy, and the remains of a moat, and many stately trees and a “front yard,” as Nick called it, that looked like two or three perfectly level golf links thrown into one! That photograph was a never-ceasing source of joy to Nick, and if he was there when a new visitor arrived he always haled the latter up to see it. “Our ancestral home,” he would explain, to Hugh’s embarrassment, “Lockley Manor, Glyndestoke, Hants, England, by Jove!” There was a smaller photograph of the home in Maryland, but that was less impressive and more like what Nick had seen. The two or three English country views interested him more. “This,” he would inform the newcomer, “is a view of the spinney back of the home farm. And here we have the bridge at Glyndestoke, with the Old Inn in the distance. Right there is where Ordway catches his salmon for breakfast. Every morning when it’s rainy enough he saunters down that road there accompanied by the head gamekeeper and two or three assistant gamekeepers and a few dozen gillies and fishes up a salmon. That is, he gets the salmon on the hook, but, bless your simple heart, he doesn’t pull him in. Oh, dear no! Rather not! I should say otherwise and vastly to the contrary. That’s where the first assistant gamekeeper has his innings, d’ye see? The first assistant gamekeeper takes the rod and plays the fish while the head gamekeeper stands ready with the landing-net. It’s all very simple, you see. Nothing irksome about it all. Ordway seldom gets tired fishing. He――――” “Oh, I say, Nick, cut it out, like a good chap!” Hugh would beg. “Stuff a pillow in his mouth, someone, please!”