He, who was a notorious slacker, now posed as a former martinet, and present authority, and his faithful family believed in the fable. The truth was, that but for Mrs. Meach, who was popular, and for whom everyone was sorry, he would not have been "let down," so to speak, without a nasty jar.
The Tyrant liked to fasten on Mayne,—who occasionally escorted Nancy, when she came to see her friends,—and to question him sharply on Army matters, and utter high boastings of "my old regiment—Cavalry—I never could stand being a mud-crusher!" and as he knew that Mayne was an Infantry officer, this remark was, to say the least, tactless.
When they all sat at tea, he talked with his mouth full, helped himself to hot cakes—two at a time—bragged, snubbed his family, laid down the law, and made rude personal remarks. With regard to his daughter Nellie, he said:
"We sent Nellie down to try her luck in Bangalore; but there was no market, no buyers—and here she is, back on our hands like a bad penny."
Poor Nellie blushed till there were tears in her eyes.
"I'll give her to anyone with a pound of tea—ha! ha! ha!"
"If you were my father, and made such rude speeches," said Nancy fiercely, "I'd be very glad to give you away, with a whole plantation!"
"There you go, spitfire!" he exclaimed.—He rather liked Nancy, because she boldly opposed him.—"You've been spoiled, my good girl; if your father had given you some sound thrashings, you would not be so cocksey—and such a bad example to other young women."
"I think," said Mayne, rising, "it is time for us to make a start," and he eyed the old bully, with a menacing stare.
"Oh, ho!" and he chuckled. "Nancy is used to me—aren't you, red poll? You don't mind!"