So Philip Crane, to his intense delight, was summoned to Ringwood.
Come on board, then, tomorrow at eight o'clock, and ask for Sergeant Ringwood.
But you must come to Ringwood some day and judge for yourself.
Even in the Porter household, which was at Ringwood Farm, was divided allegiance.
"It is—that is—you see—Ethel, you explain," stammers Captain Ringwood confusedly.
In August Porter had taken his horses back to Ringwood for the winter.
From the first he had felt that Ringwood would pass out of its owner's possession, and he had begun to covet it.
Crane's racing season had been as successful as the Master of Ringwood's had been disastrous.
He knew the master of Ringwood was an unchanging man, very set in his ways, adhering closely to his plans and opinions.
By comparison Crane's visits to Ringwood were utopianly complacent.