"Thenk Gord, no!" said Egbert piously. "White slaves are worse," he added.
"And were those slaves in the carriage with you?"
"Tyrangs," said Egbert Hunt. "Tyrangs and sickopants of tyrangs."
Percival started a question; then, as a sound came: "That's my Aunt Maggie calling me. Good-by! I hope your poor head will soon be better."
Egbert smiled the wan smile of one not to be deluded into hope: "You've been kind to me," he said. "I like you. You ain't like all the rest. What's your name?"
"Percival. I really must go now, if you please. My Aunt Maggie—"
He started to run in the direction of Aunt Maggie's voice; but Egbert recalled him with a very mysterious and compelling "H'st!" and wag of the head.
"Was that your Aunt Maggie in the hall with you just now?" Egbert inquired.
A sudden recollection came to Percival. "You mean before tea? Was that you?"
"What she make you put your cap on for, and say 'I hold'? That was a funny bit, that was."