“'I am victualed for a siege,' says he, and he goes into his own room, and I heard him shoot the bolt.”
“What does that mean?” inquired Mr. Palmer.
“It means, sir, that you won't get him out except by kicking him out.” Hawes had been irritating their wounded vanity in order to get them up to this mark.
“Then turn him out by force,” said Williams. But the other two were wiser. “No, we must not do that—we can keep him out if once he crosses the door.”
“I will manage it for you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Hawes.
“Do.”
Mr. Hawes went out and primed Fry with a message to Mr. Eden that a gentleman had ridden over from Oxford to see him, and was at his house.
Mr. Eden was in his room busy collecting and arranging several papers. He had just tied them up in a little portfolio when he heard Fry's voice at the door. When that worthy delivered his message his lip curled with scorn. But he said, “Very well.” I will disappoint the sly boobies, thought he. But the next moment, looking out of his window, he saw a fly with a gray horse coming along the road. “At last,” he cried, and instantly unbolted his door, and issued forth with his little portfolio under his arm. He had scarce taken ten steps when a turnkey popped out from a corner and stood sentinel over his room-door, barring all return.
Mr. Eden smiled and passed on along the corridor. He descended from the first floor to the basement. Here he found Hawes affecting business, but not skillfully enough to hide that he was watching Mr. Eden out.
In the yard leading to the great door he found the injustices. Aha! thought he—waiting to see me out. He raised his hat politely. Williams took no notice. The others slight.