"Of course," said Eustace.
"What for?" demanded Peter, flushing hotly.
"To make you shut up, that's all," Eustace said coolly.
Peter dropped his injured leg and flung himself upon his brother with doubled fists.
"How dare you, you—you horrid boy!" he said chokily, for Peter's temper always sprang out like a sheet of flame up muslin curtains.
With a queer little smile, Eustace gripped his slender wrists, and held them so that the little chap could do nothing but wriggle about like an eel.
"Let me go, I say," he said; "let me go, I tell you. I won't be held like a baby."
He had about as much strength as a baby in Eustace's grip, for the elder boy was a well-built, square-shouldered fellow, and powerful for his age.
Mrs. Orban looked up at the commotion, and wondered what it could be all about so suddenly.
"As you are strong, be merciful, Eustace," she said quietly—that was all.