“But it wouldn’t be, if we got ’em to the Rill caves.”
“Samson!” cried Fred; “the very place.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Samson, drawing along breath, as if perfectly satisfied with himself.
“What do you say, Scarlett, to that?”
“Yes,” replied Scarlett, thoughtfully, “if you think it could be done.”
“If it could be done,” said Sir Godfrey, faintly. “I might live if you could get me there, Scar, my boy. For their sake—for their sake,” he added sadly to himself.
“Oh, I know it could be done,” said Samson. “If Master Fred makes up his mind to do it, and asks me to help him, it’s as good as done. Hear that, you ugly Coombeland ruffian?” he added in a whisper, as he pressed his doubled first in the semi-darkness against his brother’s nose.
“Just you wait till I get well,” whispered back Nat, doubling his own fist and holding it against Samson’s nose in return.
“Yes, and just you wait till I get you well,” whispered Samson. “I’d give it to you now, only it would be like hitting at a bit o’ clay. Why, you’re as soft as boiled bacon! I’d be ashamed to call myself a man!”
“Just you say all that again when I get well,” whispered Nat.