evidently weighing
some problem. Presently he gave a gulp of decision.

"Mr. Wild," he said, "I haven't known you very long, but I seem to have
known you for years. What I've seen has interested me--impressed me, and
I like you. You know a little about me, that I'm off for a holiday on
unusual lines, but unless you agree to my proposal I shan't tell you any
more. You, it appears, are a free agent, young, with nothing to do. I
think we might enjoy ourselves much more together than apart. In any
case, if we found it didn't suit we could separate. If you feel like
adventuring for a few days I think there may be a little fun. I can't
promise it, but I think so. If you agree, I'll tell you the rest when
we get to The Happy Heart."

"One question," said Tony, "and don't be offended. Do you want any
money?"

Mr. Hedderwick thought for a moment and frowned. Then he smiled.

"I have two and eightpence in my pocket," he said frankly. "I came
out in a hurry. I could get more if I wanted, but I don't mean to
try, for I have no wish to be traced yet. I'm not a cadger or a
confidence-trickster. If you care to finance me till we return, so much
the better for me. If not, well, I'll do without and rough it somehow. I
don't mean to miss my holiday."

Tony smiled. This Hedderwick seemed an admirable fellow.

"What and where is The Happy Heart?" he asked.

"An inn at Shereling where I mean to stay."

"Forward, then, to The Happy Heart. I wish I'd bagged some boots, too.
These pumps are simply cruel."

They set out once more toward the station.

CHAPTER XI

AT THE HAPPY HEART

The landlord of The Happy Heart stood leaning against his door-post,
smoking a churchwarden. He was enjoying his tobacco and the summer
morning, and occasionally directing a bovine thought to the identity of
the solitary guest at present lying in bed up-stairs. The said guest had
arrived two days before with a view to golf, for the Shereling links
were well known. The Happy Heart was rarely without a golf enthusiast,
since it was the only inn in Shereling, the local squire (at present
yachting) owning most of the land in the neighborhood, and refusing to
let "his" village become an abiding-place for tourists. Wherefore the
neighboring town of Dallingham, six miles distant, reaped a golden
harvest, and its hotels were out of all proportion to its population.

The guest up-stairs, to return to the landlord's vaguely moving
thoughts, was a man