It was not the habit of Sir Augustus to express himself clearly and concisely, but his condition of nervousness seemed to jerk the words out of him in an astonishingly crisp manner.
“What do you mean by saying that Cavendish and the girl could stay in your quiet little village until he quit his foolishness?” demanded Dick. “Do you intend to convey the idea that he was not going to marry Flavia?”
“Marry her?” cried Camberwell. “How ridiculous! Why, he would disgrace his family, don’t you know!”
Dick Merriwell’s eyes blazed with anger.
“Then it is evident at last that Charles Cavendish is as great a scoundrel as Sir Augustus Camberwell!” he said, in deep disgust.
“What, sir—what?” gasped the Englishman, in astonishment. “How dare you use such language to me!”
“Give it to him, pard!” advised Brad, who was standing near, holding the horse. “Tell him a few things good and plain.”
“You got off too easily,” said Dick. “They should have hanged you to the limb of a tree—and Cavendish with you!”
Sir Augustus choked and spluttered.
“Do you know whom you’re addressing?” he fumed.