"Oh!" said Saltash, and looked down at the small, trembling figure in the corner. "It's medicine, is it? But a bit strong for a child of that size. I should try a milder dose next time."
Antonio laughed harshly. "The next time, milord, I shall take him—so—and wring his neck!" His laugh became a snarl as he turned. "Get up now, you—you son of a pig, and go back to your work!"
"Easy! Easy!" said Saltash, with a smile. "We don't talk to the English like that, Antonio,—not even the smallest and weakest of them. Let's have a look at this specimen—with your permission!" He bent over the huddled figure. "Hold up your head, boy! Let me see you!"
There was no movement to obey, and he laid a hand upon the quivering shoulder and felt it shrink away convulsively.
"I believe you've damaged him," he said, bending lower. "Here, Tommy!
Hold up your head! Don't be afraid! It's a friend."
But the narrow figure only sank down a little lower under his hand.
"His name is Toby," said Antonio with acidity. "A dog's name, milord, and it fits him well. He is what you would call a lazy hound."
Saltash paid not the slightest attention to him. He was bending low, his dark face in shadow.
"Don't be afraid!" he said again. "No one is going to hurt you. Come along! Let's look at you!"
His hold tightened upon the shrinking form. He began to lift it up.