The she-dragon didn't write. I think her words would
have been too burning to put on paper. But Papa wrote a pretty decent
letter--for him. He didn't speak of our letters from Liverpool--the
notes we wrote from the hotel, saying we were leaving for Australia.
But he acknowledged Bob's letter from Melbourne, saying we were going
up country under your wing, and actually wished us luck! Amazing, from
Papa!"
"I think he's jolly glad we got away," Bob said.
"I think that's highly probable," said David Linton. "You'll write to
him occasionally, won't you?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose so," Bob answered. "Sometimes I'm a bit sorry
for him; it must be pretty awful to be always under the heel of a
she-dragon. Oh, and there was a really fatherly sort of letter from old
Mr. Clinton. He's an old brick; and he's quite pleased about our finding
you--or you finding us. He was always a bit worried lest Tommy should
feel lonesome in Australia."
"And not you?" Norah asked laughing.
"No, he didn't worry a bit about me; he merely hoped I'd be working
too hard to notice lonesomeness. I think the old chap always was a bit
doubtful that any fellow would get down to solid work after flying; he
used to say the two things wouldn't agree. But you sent him a decent
report of me, didn't you, sir?"
"Oh, yes--I wrote when you asked me, just after you bought this place,"
David Linton said.
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