"They're going to Mr. von Greusen's place to be made into wine," Hugh answered, "and it's a funny thing that however nice grapes are raw they are all equally nasty when turned into wine. Some go sour and black and you call it claret, and some go sharp and yellow and you call it Frontignac or any other silly yellow name. What _I_ should like to invent would be a kind of drink that tasted of grapes, fresh sweet grapes. I'd add a dash of peach, and a slice or two of melon, and a bottle of soda-water. And just enough powdered sugar. And ice." "Let's go and get the things now and make it this very minute," said Grizzel, tying on her sun-bonnet and making ready to start. "I'm _so_ thirsty." "It's too late to-day, and besides I'm tired. There was a man up there who wanted to know all sorts of things about the vineyards. Mr. von Greusen was too busy to go round with him, so he sent me. He was pleased with me for discovering that grape. The man's name is John Smith. I think he is French." Mollie laughed. "What are you laughing at?" asked Hugh, looking all ready to be offended. "Oh--nothing--I'm not laughing," Mollie declared; "it's only a sort of tickle; I get it sometimes." "John Smith isn't exactly a French name," said Jerry. "Why do you think he is French?" "Because he called Mr. von Greusen a 'vigneron' and talked about 'hectares' instead of acres, and 'hectolitres' instead of gallons, and he told me how vines were trained in Champagne and Burgundy and Languedoc--all very Frenchy. Mr. von Greusen never talks like that. He was interested in my new grape, but he's afraid it won't go on being like it is now. He says it has about one chance in a hundred. I don't mind betting you sixpence it _will_ be a champagne grape." "I don't mind betting you sixpence he isn't French if his name is John Smith," said Jerry. "You might as well call yourself a Scotsman named Chung Li Chang." "Oh--names! Names are nothing out here," Hugh said loftily. "We can call ourselves what we please. This is the Land of Liberty. Besides, Papa knows a Scotsman called Devereux, so there you are." "Faugh!" said Jerry scornfully. "That's nothing! Everyone knows that Scotland is full of French names." "I suppose you are trying to say 'sfaw'," said Hugh coldly. "There is nothing to sfaw about. Lots of Chinese people come to Australia and call themselves John Smith if they choose." "Faugh!" Jerry repeated. "Sfaw!" said Hugh. "Faugh--" Jerry began, but Dick interrupted. "If you two asses are trying to say pshaw you are both wrong. I happened to see it in the dictionary a few days ago and it is pronounced shaw; it's a silly sort of word anyhow. No one uses it in real life. Shut your jaws and stop your shaws and let's go and get a drink." "You can go," said Hugh, whose feelings were injured by the lack of interest in his new grape. "I'm going to stay here for the present."