The insult left the lad cold; but that was less because the insult was a feeble one than because his mind was elsewhere.
His eyes and whole attention were on the back of the departing toff.
There was something fascinating to Albert about that back this morning. He followed the young man with the interest and the undisguised admiration of a Paris gamin watching an aristocrat go to the guillotine.
As the long back disappeared round a corner, the lad turned to Cherry and winked.
"Guts," he said.
The ostler led the old horse with dripping muzzle away from the water-trough. The expression on his face seemed to suggest that the other was a vulgar fellow.
"Did he talk?" asked Albert.
"Talk!" said Cherry ironically. "To me? Likely, ain't it? He talked all right. Only he never let on."
Albert had picked up his towel, and was scrubbing away at his chin.
"Plucky little feller," he said. "You'd never know."