Would Knapp stab the other as he lay?
If so, could he stand by and see that little baboon-thing with the hairy bosom and leg-of-mutton fists murder in cold blood a noble gentleman to whom he owed his life?
Then he remembered thankfully that Knapp had no weapons.
"Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!"
Knapp had stopped now, and seemed bending over the other. Then he deliberately thrust his hand into the face beneath him.
The Gentleman sat up, snatching for his sword.
"Tweak his conk!" popped a Cockney voice—"the conk of a lord!" And he was up and away, and down the slope with the merriest spurt of laughter.
The Gentleman was on his feet in a second, pursuing, a smear of blood at his nose.
Knapp heard him.
"Chise me!" he called, and came swinging down the slope at his ease, a smug grin on his face.