“I think you might write the note,” she said.  “I believe they would come to see you.”

“Do you?” with eager pleasure.  “Then I’ll do it.  I’d give a good deal to see them again.  I tell you, they are just It—­both of them.”

CHAPTER XXVII

LIFE

Mount Dunstan, walking through the park next morning on his way to the vicarage, just after post time, met Mr. Penzance himself coming to make an equally early call at the Mount.  Each of them had a letter in his hand, and each met the other’s glance with a smile.

“G.  Selden,” Mount Dunstan said.  “And yours?”

“G.  Selden also,” answered the vicar.  “Poor young fellow, what ill-luck.  And yet—­is it ill-luck?  He says not.”

“He tells me it is not,” said Mount Dunstan.  “And I agree with him.”

Mr. Penzance read his letter aloud.

“Dear sir: 

“This is to notify you that owing to my bike going back on me when going down hill, I met with an accident in Stornham Park.  Was cut about the head and leg broken.  Little Willie being far from home and mother, you can see what sort of fix he’d been in if it hadn’t been for the kindness of Reuben S. Vanderpoel’s daughters—­Miss Bettina and her sister Lady Anstruthers.  The way they’ve had me taken care of has been great.  I’ve been under a nurse and doctor same as if I was Albert Edward with appendycytus (I apologise if that’s not spelt right).  Dear Sir, this is to say that I asked Miss Vanderpoel if I should be butting in too much if I dropped a line to ask if you could spare the time to call and see me.  It would be considered a favour and appreciated by

“G.  Selden,

“Delkoff Typewriter Co.  Broadway.

“P.  S. Have already sold three Delkoffs to Miss Vanderpoel.”

“Upon my word,” Mr. Penzance commented, and his amiable fervour quite glowed, “I like that queer young fellow—­I like him.  He does not wish to ‘butt in too much.’  Now, there is rudimentary delicacy in that.  And what a humorous, forceful figure of speech!  Some butting animal—­a goat, I seem to see, preferably—­forcing its way into a group or closed circle of persons.”

His gleeful analysis of the phrase had such evident charm for him that Mount Dunstan broke into a shout of laughter, even as G. Selden had done at the adroit mention of Weber & Fields.

“Shall we ride over together to see him this morning?  An hour with G. Selden, surrounded by the atmosphere of Reuben S. Vanderpoel, would be a cheering thing,” he said.

“It would,” Mr. Penzance answered.  “Let us go by all means.  We should not, I suppose,” with keen delight, “be ‘butting in’ upon Lady Anstruthers too early?” He was quite enraptured with his own aptness.  “Like G. Selden, I should not like to ‘butt in,’” he added.