The great fellow gave Dick’s hand another shake that was very vigorous, but by no means pleasant; and then, after three roaring cheers, the whole party went off, striking up a chorus that went rolling over the fen and kept on dying out and rising again as the great sturdy fellows tramped away.
“I’m not an inhospitable man, doctor,” said the squire, as the former shook hands to go, after giving orders for his patient to be kept quiet, and assuring the squire that the young fellow would be none the worse for the adventures of the night—“I’m not an inhospitable man, but one has to think twice before asking a hundred such to have a mug of ale. I should have liked to do it, and it was on my lips, but the barrel would have said no, I’m sure. Good-night!”
“Now, sir,” said the squire as soon as he was alone with his son, “what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Say, father!” replied Dick, staring.
“Yes, sir. Don’t you think you did about as mad and absurd a thing as the man who put his head into the lion’s jaws?”
“I—I didn’t know, father,” replied Dick, who, after the exultation caused by the cheering, felt quite crestfallen.
“No, of course you did not, but it was a very reckless thing to do, and—er—don’t—well, I hope you will never have cause to do it again.”
Dick went away, feeling as if his comb had been cut, and of course he did not hear his father’s words that night when he went to bed.
“Really, mother, I don’t know whether I felt proud of the boy or vexed when he faced that great human ox.”
“I do,” said Mrs Winthorpe smiling, but with the tears in her eyes—“proud.”