“And a good job it’s no worse, sir.”
“Here, you,” cried Dean angrily, for the excitement of the incident had brought on a curious attack of irritation. “You, Buck Denham, how dare you snatch off my hat like that and send it flying!”
“Eh?” said the man, staring. “Oh, ah, so I did.”
“Then don’t do it again, sir!” And then turning hurriedly away with a feeling of annoyance at his display of fault-finding with one who he felt now had probably saved his cousin from serious hurt, he went on after his hat, but only to meet the pigmy half way to the spot where
it had fallen, holding out the missing straw at the end of Mak’s spear.
“Are you hurt much, Mark?” said the doctor sternly; and the words were echoed by Sir James, who came hurrying up.
“Oh, no,” said the boy hastily, feeling half annoyed now at the bearing of those near; and then he stood looking at his father’s frowning countenance and listened to the doctor’s sternly uttered whisper.
“Foolishly impetuous and thoughtless,” said the doctor. “How often have I told you to try to think before you act!”
“I—I’m very sorry, sir,” faltered Mark. “And so am I,” said the doctor gravely, as he turned away. “Now, Denham,” he continued, in his natural tones, speaking as if to put an end to the incident by those last words, “how has the fuse acted?”