Fred was quite unmoved.
“Now what would your father say if he heard you?” he asked, good-humoredly. “You know he told you to be civil. Ho, yes, I’ve sharp ears enough—always catch up anything I want to hear.”
Olivia said nothing to this, and presently he went on, in a persuasive tone—
“You know it’s worse than wasting your time to be rude to me, because I’m not a bad chap to people I like, and to people I don’t like I can do awfully nasty turns.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt your power of making yourself unpleasant,” said Olivia, quietly.
Still Fred Williams only chuckled. They had by this time reached the tent, and he gave her a chair with a flourish of satisfaction.
“There, now you must look up to me to fire off your spiteful little shots, instead of down at me as if I were a worm or a beetle. It’s not many men of my size, mind you, that would walk with a girl as tall as you—it puts a fellow at a disadvantage. And as your six-footers are not too plentiful in these parts, it would be wiser of you to make your peace with the little ones.”
“I assure you,” said Olivia, looking up at him gravely, “that I could get on very well without either six-footers or four-feet-sixers.”
“That’s a nasty cut. There’s not many fellows would stand that,” said the irrepressible one. “But, there, I tell you there’s nothing I wouldn’t put up with from you. I suppose you won’t insult my guv’nor if I introduce him to you,” he continued, glancing towards a corner of the tent where the elder Mr. Williams was engaged in animated talk with Ned Mitchell.
“Certainly not;” answered Olivia, “I am told by every one that you could scarcely be told for father and son.”