Dick’s teeth gave forth a peculiar gritting sound, and then, thrusting down the pole, he ran in the punt, leaped on to the quivering shore with the rope, fastened it to a bush, and signed to Tom to follow.
The man said nothing, but there was a curiously aggravating leering grin upon his countenance as he sat taking in every movement on the part of the boys, who walked away rapidly with the full knowledge that they were followed.
“Don’t look back, Tom,” said Dick between his teeth. “Oh, how I should have liked to give him a topper with the pole!”
“I wish old Dave was here to pitch him in the water,” growled Tom.
“Did you ever see anything so aggravating? He’s following us. I can hear his boots. Don’t take any notice. Let’s go on fast as if he wasn’t there.”
“I don’t know that I can,” grumbled Tom. “I feel alloverish like.”
“Feel how?”
“As if I couldn’t do as I liked. My head wants to turn round and look at him, my tongue wants to call him names, and my toes itch, and my fists want to feel as if it would be like punching a sack of corn to hit him in the nose.”
“Come along!” cried Dick, who was too angry to laugh at his companion’s remarks. “Let’s make haste to Mr Marston.”
As they reached the works the first man they encountered was big Bargle, who stuck his spade into the soft peat and came slowly up the embankment, to stand wiping his fist on his side, before opening it and holding it out, smiling broadly the while.