I felt as if I should have liked to be a boy crusher, and have run at him with my fists clenched, and drubbed him till he roared for mercy, but I did not stir.
“Then what’s he doing here?” said Courtenay in a sour, morose tone of voice. “He ought to be among the cabbages, and not here.”
This was as if they were talking to themselves, but meant for me to hear.
“Old Browny was afraid to put him there for fear he’d begin wolfing them. I caught him as soon as he came. He got loose, and I found him in the peach-house eating the peaches, but I dropped on to him with the cane and made the beggar howl.”
“Old Browny ought to look after him,” said Courtenay.
“Don’t I tell you he ran away. I expect Browny will have to put a dog-collar and chain on him, and drive a stake down in the kitchen-garden to keep him from eating the cabbages when he’s caterpillaring. These workhouse boys are such hungry beggars.”
“Put a muzzle on him like they do on a ferret,” said Courtenay; and then they laughed together.
“Hasn’t he got a rum phiz?” said Philip, who, I soon found, was the quicker with his tongue.
“Yes; don’t talk so loud: he’ll hear you. Just like a monkey,” said Courtenay; and they laughed again.
“I say, is he going to stop?” said Courtenay.