The valet, standing behind Thorpe, shrugged his shoulders
and eloquently shook his head.
"Do you like an 'ammerless, sir?" the keeper turned
to Thorpe.
To his intense humiliation, Thorpe could not make out
the meaning of the query. "Oh, anything'll do for me,"
he said, awkwardly smiling. "It's years since I've shot--I
daresay one gun'll be quite the same as another to me."
He felt the knowing bright eyes of the keeper taking
all his measurements as a sportsman. "You'd do best
with 'B,' sir, I fancy," the functionary decided at last,
and his way of saying it gave Thorpe the notion that "B"
must be the weapon that was reserved for school-boys.
He watched the operation of putting the gun together,
and then took it, and laid it over his arm, and followed
the valet out into the hall again, in dignified silence.
To the keeper's remark--"Mr. Balder has its mate with
him today, sir," he gave only a restrained nod.
There were even now whole minutes to wait before Lord
Plowden appeared. He came down the stairs then with
the brisk, rather impatient air of a busy man whose plans
are embarrassed by the unpunctuality of others. He was
fully attired, hob-nailed shoes, leggings, leather coat
and cap, gloves, scarf round his throat and all--and he
behaved as if there was not a minute to lose.
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