I expected to find you, not near as
stale. But I hope you'll keep it up now you've started with it again."

And Dion promised he would, put his bicycle on the top of a fourwheeler,
sent it off to Westminster, and walked as far as Claridge's with Mrs.
Clarke and Jimmy.

The boy made him feel tremendously intimate with Mrs. Clarke. The
hero-worship he was receiving, the dancing of the blood through his
veins, the glow of hard exercise, the verdict of Jenkins on his physical
condition--all these things combined spurred him to a joyous exuberance
in which body and mind seemed to run like a matched pair of horses in
perfect accord. Although not at all a conceited man, the feeling that
he was being admired, even reverenced, was delightful to him, and warmed
his heart towards the jolly small boy who kept along by his side through
the busy streets. He and Jimmy talked in a comradely spirit, while
Mrs. Clarke seemed to listen like one who has things to learn. She was
evidently a capital walker in spite of her delicate appearance. To-day
Dion began to believe in her iron health, and, in his joy of the body,
he liked to think of it. After all delicacy, even in a woman, was a
fault--a fault of the body, a sort of fretful imperfection.

"Are you strong?" he said to her, when Jimmy's voice ceased for a moment
to demand from him information or to pour upon him direct statement.

"Oh yes. I've never been seriously ill in my life. Don't I look strong?"
she asked.

"I don't think you do, but I feel as if you are."

"It's the wiry kind of strength, I suppose."

"The mater's a stayer," quoth Jimmy, and forthwith took up the wondrous
tale with his hero, who began to consult him seriously on the question
of "points."

"If you'd had to give a decision, Jimmy, which of us would have got it,
Jenkins or I?"

Jimmy looked very grave and earnest.

"It's jolly difficult to tell a thing like that, isn't it?" he said,
after a longish pause. "You see, you're both so jolly strong, aren't
you?"

His dark eyes gazed at the bulk of Dion.

"Well, which is the quicker?" demanded Dion.

But Jimmy was not to be drawn.

"I think you're both as quick as--as cats," he returned diplomatically,
seeking anxiously for the genuine sporting comparison that would be
approved at the ring-side. "Don't you, mater?"

Mrs. Clarke huskily agreed. They were now nearing Claridge's, and Jimmy
was insistent that Dion should come in and have a real jam tea with