“True; but some are bigger than others.”
“Well, what’s the big one now?” said Dyke contemptuously, as if he had grown so hardened that he could face anything.
“Jack,” said Emson laconically.
“What! Jack? Yes, he’d better be,” cried Dyke. “If he gives me any of his nonsense, he’ll have a rap over the head with the barrel of my gun.”
“How much of that is honest pluck, old chap, and how much bunkum?” said Emson, speaking very seriously.
“I don’t know,” cried Dyke, colouring; “I don’t think there’s any bounce in it, Joe. I meant it honestly.”
“But he is a man, and you are a boy.”
“Oh yes, he’s a man, and he bullies and threatens Tanta Sal, and makes believe that he is going to spear her, and directly she rushes at him, he runs. I don’t think I should be afraid of Jack.”
“Neither do I, little un,” cried Emson warmly. “That will do. I was nervous about this. I felt that he might begin to show off as soon as you two were away from me, and if he fancied that you were afraid of him, he would be master to the end of the journey.”
“But if it came to a row, Joe, and I was horribly afraid of him, I wouldn’t let him see it. Perhaps I should be, but— Oh no, I wouldn’t let him know.”