He closed and locked the door of communication with equal deliberation, then advanced to the table at which Frank sat, and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder.
“Now, sir,” said Clark, between his shut teeth, “what is the meaning of this?”
The lad looked up at him with an eye as fierce as his own.
“It means—take your hands off!”
For all answer Clark shook him fiercely, for it seemed as if the threat imbued him with ten-fold rage.
But, to his surprise, after the first fierce look, the boy did not either writhe or struggle, although the nervous grip of the powerful borderer must have caused intense pain, as the fingers sunk into his shoulder.
Feeling almost ashamed of himself, Clark released his hold, for the first feeling of the soft, delicate shoulder he had griped had convinced him that Frank was a mere child in his hands. He struck down the boy’s feet off the table with his open hand, and then released him, casting himself down in an opposite chair.
“Now, sir,” he said, sternly, “since you have learned your manners, tell me what is the meaning of all this?”
The little adjutant was quite silent, but he was breathing hard, and had changed his position. His face was now turned away from Clark and hidden by the tangled mass of curls. He made no answer.
After a while Clark repeated the question.