affectionately, and inquired after his sleep and his comfort and the
quality of his breakfast.

"Doesn't Austin smell of tobacco smoke, mother?" asked Dick.

"Austin," replied Mrs. Ware, "has a way of smoking and not smelling of
it."

Austin laughed gaily. "I believe if I fell into a pond you'd say I had a
way of coming up dry."

Dick turned to Viviette, and muttered with some bitterness: "And if I
fell into a dry ditch she'd say I came up slimy."

Viviette, touched by pity, raised a bewitching face. "Dry or slimy, you
would be just the same dear old Dick," she whispered.

"And what about the stables?" asked Mrs. Ware.

"Oh, they're not bad. They're rather creditable; but," Austin added,
turning with a laugh to his brother, "the mother will fidget, you know,
and the somewhat--let us say rococo style of architecture has got on her
nerves. I think the whole thing had better come down, don't you?"

"If you like," said Dick gruffly. He had given way to Austin all his
life. What was the use of opposing him now?

"Good. I'll send young Rapson, the architect, along to make a design.
Don't you worry, old chap, I'll see it through."