“Knocked under,” said Jenny, softly, to herself. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it!”
When Susan came down-stairs and put the gun-room key into Phil’s hands, he received it with a feeling of positive exaltation. One of his great troubles was at an end. Putting on his hat, he walked cheerfully down to the stables. For a time, the effect of the French boy’s story and threat had passed from his mind.
As soon as Phil was well out of the house, Emile came cautiously down-stairs. Seizing his hat from the rack, he clapped it on, went out and walked down the shaded roadway.
He was very angry, not only with everybody around him, but with himself. He had suffered himself, in a measure, to be beaten, and had run away.
Nothing could more thoroughly exasperate a person of his nature than to think that he had done a thing like this. He walked on for some distance, storming inwardly and occasionally shaking his fist, until, when he had nearly reached the outer gate, he saw Phœnix Poole approaching.
Phœnix had come, by appointment with Chap, to talk over plans in regard to the wreck, but Chap, that afternoon, had been detained at home.
The sight of Phœnix still further enraged Emile. He was the boy who had suspected the motive of his single dive from the scow, and had tried to find out what he had been doing under water.
“What do you want here?” cried Emile, as soon as he came within speaking distance of the other.
“What’s that to you?” asked Phœnix, a little surprised.
“You go home!” cried Emile. “Nobody wants you here.”