“Well, but he is,” said my father smiling. “He was about to unpack that box for me—I was just going to set him the task.”
Bigley drew back, but my father said good-humouredly:
“Why don’t you stop and help him?”
“May I, sir? I should like to.”
“Go on, then, my lads. Take the lid off carefully, Sep. There is a screw-driver in that cupboard.”
I went eagerly to the cupboard and opened it, to give quite a start, for there, hanging upon nails at the back, were the pistols and sword I had remembered were absent from home.
I found the screw-driver in a sort of tool-chest, and as Bigley and I took it in turns to draw the screws, my father cleared the table.
“Be careful,” he said. “You can lay the things out here. I shall soon be back.”
He left us together, and, all eagerness now, I worked away at the screws, which were very tight, and there were four on each side of the lid, and others in the clamps, which had to be removed before the lid could be raised.
“I am glad I came, Sep,” said Bigley. “I was wondering why you hadn’t been down to me.”