"Who are these men?" demanded Lady Bazelhurst, as they came up to the
fast-breathing young Englishwoman.
"Don't bother me, please. We must get him to bed at once. He'll have
pneumonia," replied Penelope.
Both men were dripping wet and the one in the middle limped painfully,
probably because both eyes were swollen tight and his nose was
bleeding. Penelope's face was beaming with excitement and interest.
"Who are you?" demanded his lordship planting himself in front of the
shivering twain.
"Tompkins," murmured the blind one feebly, tears starting from the
blue slits and rolling down his cheeks.
"James, sir," answered the other, touching his damp forelock.
"Are they drunk?" asked Mrs. De Peyton, with fresh enthusiasm.
"No, they are not, poor fellows," cried Penelope. "They have taken
nothing but water."
"By Jove, deuced clever that," drawled the duke. "Eh?" to the New
Yorker.
"Deuced," from the Knickerbocker.
"Well, well, what's it all about?" demanded Bazelhurst.
"Mr. Shaw, sir," said James.
"Good Lord, couldn't you rescue him?" in horror.
"He rescued us, sir," mumbled Tompkins.
"You mean--"
"He throwed us in and then had to jump in and pull us out, sir.
Beggin' your pardon, sir, but _damn_ him!"
"And you didn't throw him in, after all? By Jove, extraordinary!"
"Do you mean to tell us that he threw you great hulking creatures into
the river? Single-handed?" cried Lady Bazelhurst, aghast.
"He did, Evelyn," inserted Penelope.
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