bitterly familiar with Kenny's incapacity for steadiness of any kind.
Kenny, it developed, was thinking in similar vein.

"I take it there will be an interval of waiting before remorse will
lead the kid to write to his sister," he said. "Otherwise I'd proceed
to the farmhouse at once in a flying machine."

The romance of this seemed to strike him strongly for an interval.
Then, mercifully, he repeated his intention of tramping.

"And then?" said Garry.

"Then," said Kenny with the utmost optimism, "I'll pick up his trail at
the farmhouse and from there I'll travel night and day until I overtake
him."

"And then?"

"The lad will come home with me."

"And then?"

"Good God, Garry," thundered Kenny, "I never knew anybody with such an
'And then?' sort of mind as you seem to have. There's an 'And then?'
doubt after every glorious climax. He'll be home. That's sufficient."

"What about the scrapbook?"

"I've already sent it."