He spoke clearly; and a tiny little tremble of Egbert's back seemed to advertise again the gratitude that sympathy aroused in him. "Oh, that's nothing," Rollo declared. "He pretends." The poor back drooped. "Tyrangs," Egbert murmured and furtively edged a vegule to his mouth. II In the dusk of that evening Percival went bounding home, immensely pleased with his new friends and with the new delights in life they had discovered for him. He had nice clean knees and a bandage on each--a matter that caused him considerable pride. He had gladly promised to come to see Rollo again on the morrow, and he would have stayed much longer into the evening had not Lord Burdon (as Lady Burdon said) "begun to fidget" and to persist that Miss Oxford must be getting nervous at this long absence. "His aunt will naturally be glad when she knows where he has been," Lady Burdon had exclaimed. Lord Burdon gave the smile that she knew came before one of his annoying rejoinders. "That won't make her wild with joy while she doesn't know where he is, old girl." She was irritable. The vexation of having to leave London, which she enjoyed, for Burdon which she felt she would hate, was settling upon her. She looked at him resentfully. "That is funny, I suppose?" she inquired. "You are always very funny, aren't you?" and she gave orders for Hunt to take Percival home. Down the road Percival chattered brightly to Egbert, holding his hand. "I jump like this," he explained, capering along, "because I pretend I'm a horse. Then if you want me to walk quietly you only have to say 'whoa!' you see." "Whoa!" said Egbert very promptly. Percival's legs itched to jump out the animation that events had bottled into him. "Did you say 'gee up'?" he presently inquired. "No," said Egbert. "Oh," said Percival, and with a little sigh repeated "oh!" Egbert felt the appeal. "Fac' of it is, that jumping jerks me up." "Got another sick headache, have you?" "Crool," said the living martyr to 'em. Percival took another phrase of Aunt Maggie: "You must be thor'ly out of sorts, I think." "Got one foot in the grave, that's what I've got," Egbert agreed. "Fac'." Percival peered down at Egbert's legs. "Which one, please?" he inquired. "Figger o' speech," Egbert told him, and explained: "Way of saying things." He added: "Go off in the night one of these days, I shall;" and commented with gloomy satisfaction: "Then they'll be sorry." Percival asked: "Who will?" He visioned Egbert running by night with one foot embedded in a tombstone, and he was considerably attracted by the picture. "Who will?" he repeated. "Tyrangs!" said Egbert. "Too late to be sorry then. Fac'." "Well, I should be dreffly sorry," Percival assured him. "Believe you," said Egbert, "and many thanks for the same. First that's ever said a kine word to me, you are; and I'll be grateful--if I'm spared."