"You needn't," said The Rat. "It's not that I want him to know. I want to know myself that I'm doing something for him. I'll find out things that I can do without interfering with you. I'll think them out."
"Anything any one else did for him would be interfering with me," said Lazarus.
It was The Rat's turn to reflect now, and his face twisted itself into new lines and wrinkles.
"I'll tell you before I do anything," he said, after he had thought it over. "You served him first."
"I have served him ever since he was born," said Lazarus.
"He's—he's yours," said The Rat, still thinking deeply.
"I am his," was Lazarus's stern answer. "I am his—and the young Master's."
"That's it," The Rat said. Then a squeak of a half-laugh broke from him. "I've never been anybody's," he added.
His sharp eyes caught a passing look on Lazarus's face. Such a queer, disturbed, sudden look. Could he be rather sorry for him?
Perhaps the look meant something like that.