“If you don’t get out of the way I shall take the soles off your boots,” said Bunce, putting back his rubber.
“I’ll speak to papa about your insolence,” cried the boy, with his eyes flashing and his fists clenched; and I thought he was going to strike Bunce.
“Well,” said a sharp ringing voice, “speak to him then. What is it?”
I started to my feet, and Bunce touched his cap to a tall elderly gentleman with closely-cut grey hair and a very fierce-looking white moustache, whose keen eyes seemed to look me through and through.
“I said, what is it, Phil?” cried the newcomer, whom I felt to be Sir Francis before Philip spoke.
“This fellow called me a pauper, pa!”
Sir Francis turned sharply on Bunce, who did not seem in the slightest degree alarmed.
“How dare you call my son a pauper, sir?” he said sternly.
“I—”
“Stop!” cried Sir Francis. “Here, you boy, go away and wait till I call you. Not far.”