“March, yees blackguard, march!” promptly ordered Smith, laying his hand roughly on Rutley’s arm to urge him along.
“Hands off!” sharply exclaimed the latter, shaking Smith’s hand off and regarding him with a haughty stare; then, in a cutting high-pitched voice, he went on: “No liberties, flannel-mouthed cur—scat!”
“He is game,” muttered Sam.
The stigma uttered in tones of withering contempt fairly lashed Smith into a foaming passion. He instantly dropped his stick, tore off his coat, spat on his hands, and while squaring off to Rutley, pranced about, beside himself with rage, and when he at last found speech, he said explosively: “Flannel-mouthed cur, is it yees be callin’ me? Sure, Oi’ll attind to yees blackguard. Och, sure Oi wouldn’t strike yees wid yees hands tied, ye murtherin’ villain! Oi mane to be fair wid yees, too, so Oi do, though ye little desarve it, and be the token ave it, Oi’ll sit ye free to recave the batin’ that will make yees respect my nation!” and in the heat of his rage and quite forgetful of place and environment, furiously untied the knot Sam had made to fasten the cord which he wound several times around Rutley’s body, and then giving it a vigorous pull, sent Rutley spinning around like a top.
The thing was done so quick that Sam in his surprise was unable to check Smith, and had difficulty in restraining him from untying Rutley’s hands also.
“Hold, Smith! Have it out with him some other time, not now or here,” he said, laying his hand on Smith’s arm, and then observing Smith with an angry stare, directed at him, Sam grinned and went on mockingly:
“His lordship wants you to keep your hands off.”
“’E do, do ’e?” replied Smith, his anger abating, and breaking into a hoarse laugh; “sure, Oi would not touch yees at all, at all except wid a pair ave steel nippers.” Then he put on his coat, picked up the stick and commenced to poke Rutley toward the door, saying meanwhile, much to Rutley’s frowning mortification, but helpless resistance: “March, yees blue-blooded gintleman, with the appetite for a pinitintiary risidence. March, yees thavin’ ruffian, march!”
Scowling and turning, yet maintaining his always haughty bearing, Rutley passed “off the stage” by the back stairs, accompanied by his guards, but as Sam had declared, “game to the last.”
In order to avoid creating excitement by appearing within view of the little sorrowful group, now near the front of the house, they placed him in a vine-covered arbor, which was convenient and, leaving Smith to guard him, Sam hurried off to inform the officers of their capture.