“Draw it mild, you three, or we’ll kick you,” said Harpour.
“But we won’t draw it mild,” said Franklin; “it’s quite true; you and Jones are brutes to bully that poor little fellow so. He never hurt you.”
“What an uppish lot you nips are,” said Harpour; “it’s all that fellow Evson’s doing. Hang me, if I don’t take it out of you;” and he advanced with a slipper in his hand towards Franklin.
“Touch him if you dare,” said Henderson; “if you do Anthony and I will stick by him; and, Cradock, you’ll see fair play, won’t you?”
“Pooh,” said Cradock. “I’m asleep. Fight it out by yourselves.”
“Never mind these little fools, Harpour,” said Jones; “they’re beneath your notice. Besides, it’s time to turn off to sleep.” For Jones had earned his soubriquet by always showing a particularly large white feather when there was any chance of a fray.
“Phew, Jones; none of us would give much for you,” said Henderson contemptuously. “Little fools, indeed! You know very well that you daren’t lay a finger on the least of us, whether we’re beneath your notice or no. An ostrich is a big bird, but its white feathers are chiefly of use in helping it to run away.” He went to Eden’s bedside, for the child was still sobbing with pain, and was evidently in a great state of nervous agitation.
“Never mind, Eden,” he said, in a kind and soothing voice; “think no more of it; we won’t let them take you prisoner again.” And as he spoke he took his place by Eden’s side, and looked with angry defiance at the two bullies.
“Those fellows hurt me so,” said Eden, in an apologetic tone, bravely trying to check his tears. “Oh, I wish Evson would come back.”
“He is coming back in a night or two; his knee is nearly well. I haven’t helped you enough, poor little fellow. I’m so sorry. I say, you brutes,” he continued, raising his voice, “next time you bully Eden, I’ll tell Somers as sure as fate.”