“Beg your pardon, Sir James,” growled Peter; “not as a woman, sir.”
“Well, as good as a woman; and as for Robert Bacon, we should have starved over and over again but for the clever way in which he stole down of a night from the cavern, and never came back without food in some shape or another; eh, doctor?”
“Invariably,” replied the gentleman addressed.
“Oh, it warn’t anything to make a fuss about, Sir James,” said Bob, changing from one foot to the other, and looking very uncomfortable. “I stole lots of it from the waggon.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “and risked being speared by the enemy.”
“Oh, no, sir, begging your pardon,” said Bob modestly. “It was much too dark for that; and the two forelopers as the blacks kept to look after the bullocks always saved me a snack or two for you when one of the beasts was killed.”
“Well, thanks to you both, my lads, we did well. Yes, Peter; what is it?”
“I only wanted to say, Sir James,” said the keeper, “that—that is, Sir James—here, go on, Bob; you know what we want to say.”
“Yes, mate, but now it’s come to the point I don’t like to say it.”
“My good men,” said Sir James, “I am too old and tired for all this shilly-shallying. So now then, Robert, tell me what it is you both want to say.”