“A gray day,” Dick answered cheerily. “’Tis good for your work. There’ll be no sun to dazzle either of you.”
Hugh got up, and in the midst of drawing on his clothes glanced at Dick’s watch, where he saw it was past their rising hour. “Is this the way you pamper a fighter, as if I were one of Butler’s gamecocks?” he asked.
“You were sleeping well,” Strangwayes answered; “’twere pity to wake you. I’ll fetch some breakfast and we’ll eat together here.”
“You can get food from the shop below; you’ve no need of your hat and cloak. Where are you going, Dick?”
Strangwayes hesitated an instant while he drew his cloak about him, then replied, “I am going to your father.”
“You shall not!” Hugh cried, and, crossing to the door, set his back against it.
“Assuredly I shall,” Strangwayes answered. “The matter has gone beyond jest.”
“He will call me a snivelling coward,” Hugh pleaded; “he will say I made a mash of it and then came whimpering to him.”
“Let him,” Strangwayes interrupted, “’tis his quarrel and he should manage it himself. Why did you ever thrust in?”
“I know not,” Hugh answered. “Only he is my father. And he is no coward. They lied about him in that. And he was not there to reply. I had to come in.”