“At you about the watch.”
“Well, I can’t help it, Frank. That watch seems always staring at me with its round white face, and holding out its hands to me. I dream of it of a night, and I’m always longing for it of a day. You can’t tell how bad it makes me feel sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t think about it, Tom.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t want to, but the thoughts will come, dreadfully. I say,” he whispered darkly, “I don’t wonder at chaps stealing sometimes, if they feel like I do.”
“What nonsense!” I cried: “I say, here’s Eely coming back.”
“Is he?” said Mercer sharply. “Then I’m off in.”
“Why, you’re never going to be such a coward as to be bullied into obeying his orders.”
“Oh yes, I am,” replied my companion. “Time isn’t ripe yet. But when it is—oh!”
He gave vent to that exclamation with peculiar force, though it was only a low hiss, and I followed him with my eyes, half disposed to think that Tom Mercer would prove a rotten reed to lean upon if I wanted his support in a struggle against our tyrant; though, truth to tell, as Burr came rolling along with half a dozen boys about, all ready at a word from him to rush at me, I did not feel at all confident of being able to resist his authority, and I began to move off.
“Hullo!” he cried. “Here’s the gallant horseman, boys. Let’s go and see him ride.”