III
The old man and the boys watched from the cottage. The door was ajar. They huddled behind it, peering. Beside them lay the table, a musket across it. In the silence they could hear each other's hearts.
"Say, Maaster Sir!" whispered Blob. "Be you fear'd?"
"Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies," replied Kit. "Be you?"
"Oi dun knaw," replied the cautious lad. "Moi insoide seems koind o swimmy loike."
"Then stand by to lend a hand with this table when I give the word," was all Kit's answer.
He was watching with all his eyes.
Parson and Gentleman were about to clash.
Then a little figure rose out of the earth, and sullen thunder smote on the silence.
Piper drew a deep breath.
"I thart so," he said, comfortably.
"Who is it?" asked Kit.
"Jack Knapp, sir," said the old man, picking his teeth. "Sneaked a drum from a travellin showman by the look on it, and tow-rowin like a rigiment. See him thump it. Ho! ho! That's joy to Jack, I knaw. Now he's for chargin em, drum and all. Ha! ha!"
Whoever else might escape there was no hope for that wingless old man. His fate was certain, his end was already come. Within five minutes at most the great doors would have slammed on him for ever. And here he sat chuckling like a boy at a fair.
It is something to be a saint, thought Kit, something to be as sure as that. This old man had built his house upon the Rock indeed.
They watched the stampede, and the Gentleman's vain attempt to stay it. Their hearts surged to the Parson's battle-cry, and sank to the Gentleman's thrust, to surge again as Knapp felled his man.
"Knapp'd him a nice un," chuckled the old man, not above a pun at death's door. "Reglar revellin in it is Knapp, I knaw."
"Our time's coming!" panted Kit. "Stand by, Blob!"
The Gentleman was down, the Gang upon the run. "Now, sir!" cried
Piper. "Now's your chance."