At this instant Marmaduke again appeared before the boys, and opened his mouth to make some sage remark; but Stephen,—now all animation,—in tones whose cheerfulness took away the harshness of the words, silenced him, saying: “Stop your noise, Marmaduke. You’re a neuter verb, you know; and they mustn’t do anything.”
“Perhaps you ought to consult Bob himself,” Will suggested. “He might observe some valuable observations about his punishment.”
“Let the prisoner speak,” chimed in the irrepressible neutral one.
“Well, Bob,” said Charles languidly, “moisten your lips and tongue, and let us have your views. In the first place, what was your plot? What did you intend to do with Carlo?”
Bob scowled at the speaker and was silent. But finally, having thought bettor of it, he did as directed, and said, “I was only going to fool you fellers; I never meant to do more’n scare him,” looking at Stephen, “and then I was going to let his dog go. But,” sorrowfully, “you came along and spoilt it all.”
“Suppose Carlo had gone at your heels when you let him out of the box?” Charles asked.
Bob turned pale and muttered something in confusion.
“Well, what do you say about our turning the tables on you?” George asked.
“Nothin’,” the prisoner answered stoically, still playing the part of an orthodox villain. No; he, a boy of nearly seventeen years, would not again beg for mercy at the hands of his inferiors—in age; and he awaited his punishment with well-feigned indifference.
If the boys had been better versed in human nature, they would have known that this passive submission on his part boded evil to their future welfare.