“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
The man laughed unpleasantly, and Nic felt an involuntary dislike to him.
“But I heard them call you Leather.”
“Leatherhead generally,” said the man roughly: “because I’m such a fool.”
“Then it’s a nickname,” cried the boy, thinking instantly of his own annoyance at school. “I say, I’m very sorry: I didn’t know. What is your name?”
“Call me the same as the others do,” said the man roughly. “Leather will do.”
“Oh, but I should be sorry to say anything to hurt you.”
“I’m used to it, young gentleman. Well, what is it? Does your father want me?”
“Oh no: I’m having a walk to see the country. I want to find the Bluff.”
“You are on the Bluff,” said the man, in his surly tones.