Waldron nodded.

“If it’s Thornton, the horse-dealer, he’ll do what you want.  He’s got houses up there.”

“It isn’t.  I haven’t seen the man yet.”

“Well,” said his friend, “I don’t know what the deuce Estelle and I are going to do without you.  We shall miss you abominably.”

“What shall I do without you?  That’s more to the point.  You’ve got each other for pals—­I—­”

He broke off and Arthur filled the pregnant pause.

“Look here—­Estelle wants to give you a wedding present, old man; and so do I. And as we haven’t the remotest idea what would be the likeliest thing, don’t stand on ceremony, but tell us.”

“I don’t want anything—­except to know I shall always be welcome when I drop in.”

“We needn’t tell you that.”

“But you must want thousands of things,” declared Estelle, “everybody does when they’re married.  And if you don’t, I’m sure Sabina does—­knives and forks and silver tea kettles and pictures for the walls.”

“Married people don’t want pictures, Estelle; they never look at anything but one another.”

She laughed.

“But the poor walls want pictures if you don’t.  I believe the walls wouldn’t feel comfortable without pictures.  Besides you and Sabina can’t sit and look at each other all day.”

“What about a nice little handy ‘jingle’ for her to trundle about in?” asked Waldron.

“As I can’t pull it, old chap, it wouldn’t be much good.  I’m keeping the hunter; but I shan’t be able to keep anything else—­if that.”

“How would it be if you sold the hunter and got a nice everyday sort of horse that you could ride, or that Sabina could drive?” asked Estelle.

“No,” said Waldron firmly.  “He doesn’t sell his hunter or his guns.  These things stand for a link with the outer world and represent sport, which is quite as important as marriage in the general scheme.”

“I thought to chuck all that and take up golf,” said Raymond.  “There’s a lot in golf they tell me.”

But Waldron shook his head.

“Golf’s all right,” he admitted, “and a great game.  I’m going to take it up myself, and I’m glad it’s coming in, because it will add to the usefulness of a lot of us men who have to fall out of cricket.  There’s a great future for golf, I believe.  But no golf for you yet.  You won’t run any more and you’ll drop out of football, as only ‘pros.’ play much after marriage.  But you must shoot as much as possible, and hunt a bit, and play cricket still.”

This comforting programme soothed Raymond.

“That’s all right, but I’ve got to find work.  I was just beginning to feel keen on work; but now—­flit, Estelle, my duck.  I want to have a yarn with father.”

The girl departed.

“Do let it be a ‘jingle,’ Ray,” she begged, and then was gone.

“It’s my damned brother,” went on Raymond.

“He’ll come round and ask you to go back, as soon as you’re fixed up and everything’s all right.”