That last sentence seemed to drive the prisoner into a fit of anger, which lasted till the boy’s next coming.
The prisoner had been listening anxiously for the sound which betokened the visit of his young gaoler, and he was longing to have speech with him; but, telling himself that the boy was an enemy, he punished himself, as soon as the lanthorn came swaying through the darkness, by throwing himself down and turning away his head.
Ram came up and held the lanthorn over him.
“Morning. How are you?”
Archy made no reply.
“’Sleep?”
Still no answer.
“You aren’t asleep. Come, look up. I’ve brought you four plum puffs, and a cream-cheese mother made.”
“Hang your plum duffs and cream-cheeses!” cried Archy, starting up in a rage.
“Didn’t say plum duff; said plum puffs.”