"Please, sir," said Alf, perking his face up with an air of frankness, "there's a boy up your tree. Here's his coat."
Mr. Pigott walked slowly on, drawing behind him a sixty-foot hose, which issued like a white snake from the scullery window.
"I know," he said with suppressed quiet. "And I know who set him on to it. I can't beat you because you'd break if I touched you. But I'll take your brother's skin off him though he's twice the man you are, you dirty little cur!"
He brought the hose to bear on the brigand in the tree, and loosed the water-spout and the vials of his wrath together.
"Ah, you young scoundrel!" he roared, finding joy in explosive self-expression. "I'll teach you come monkeying after my nuts!"
Swish went the stream of water through the branches.
Ern hid as best he could on the leeward side of the trunk.
Mr. Pigott brought his artillery mercilessly to bear upon the boy's clasping hands. Ern, spluttering and sprawling, came down the tree with a rush and made a bolt for the fence.
Mr. Pigott, roaring jovially, played the stream full on him. It was a powerful gush, and floored the boy. The avenger knew no mercy and drenched his victim as he lay.
It was a sodden little figure who crept home disconsolately ten minutes later.