Captain Baster’s face was a rich rose-pink; he, glared round the frozen circle now trying hard not to look at his boots; he saw the faces melt into irrepressible smiles; he looked to Sir Maurice, the man he had made his bosom friend, for an indignant outburst; Sir Maurice was smiling, too.
Captain Baster snorted fiercely; then he swelled with splendid dignity, and said loudly, but thickly, “I refuse! Yes, I refuse to mix in a society where children are brought up as hooligans yes: as hooligans!”
He turned on his heel, strode to the gate, and turned and bellowed, “Hooligans!”
He flung himself through the gate and strode violently across the common.
“Oh, Wiggins! How could you?” cried Mrs. Dangerfield in a tone of horror.
“It wasn’t Wiggins! It was me! I taught him. He didn’t understand,” said Erebus loyally.
“I did understand—quite. But why did he call me Freckles?” said Wiggins in a vengeful tone. “Nobody can help having freckles.”
CHAPTER III
AND THE CATS’ HOME
They watched the retreating figure of Captain Baster till it was lost to sight among the gorse, in silence. They were glad at his going, but sorry at the manner of it, since Mrs. Dangerfield looked distressed and vexed.
Then the vicar said: “There is a good deal to be said for the point of view of Wiggins, Mrs. Dangerfield. After all, Captain Baster was the original aggressor.”