‘I thought I’d show them that we were ready for them, my lord,’ said he apologetically.
I turned impatiently to Hogvardt.
‘Why did you let him make a fool of himself like that?’ I asked.
‘He would miss, anyhow, wherever the men were,’ observed Hogvardt philosophically. ‘And,’ he continued, ‘I was busy myself.’
‘What were you doing?’ I asked in a scornful tone.
Hogvardt made no answer in words; but he pointed proudly to the table. There I saw a row of five long and strong saplings; to the head of each of these most serviceable lances there was bound strongly, with thick wire wound round again and again, a long, keen, bright knife.
‘I think these may be useful,’ said Hogvardt, rubbing his hands, and rising from his seat with the sigh of a man who had done a good morning’s work.
‘The cartridges would have been more useful still,’ said I severely.
‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘if you would have taken them away from Watkins. But you know you wouldn’t, my lord. You’d be afraid of hurting his feelings. So he might just as well amuse himself while I made the lances.’
I have known Hogvardt for a long while, and I never argue with him. The mischief was done; the cartridges were gone; we had the lances; it was no use wasting more words over it. I shrugged my shoulders.