“Yes; every man has drawn his sword and is waving it in the air. He must have said something which excited them.”
“Made ’em all draw and swear that they’d cut us to pieces and fling us in the river, I dare say.”
“Oh, there you are!” cried a familiar voice, and the tall, thin subaltern hurried to their side. “I say, what do you think of that for a fit?” he cried, stopping, and then holding out one foot. “Just as if they had been made for me.”
“If you say any more about them I’ll take them away again,” said Bracy, smiling.
“Then mum it is, for I wouldn’t be so cruel to my poor plantigrades. They haven’t been so happy and comfortable for months. Watching those Dwats?”
“I’ve been doing so,” said Bracy, closing his glass and returning it to its case. “What do you think of them?”
“Think they’re a set of humbugs. They’ve come here hunting for information and pretending to be friends; and the worst of it is, old Wrayford believes in them.”
“Nonsense! He couldn’t be so weak,” cried Roberts.
“Oh, couldn’t he? But he could. He hasn’t been the same man since he was cut down about a month ago. Poor old man! he’s as brave as a lion still, but he has done several weak things lately which none of us like. What do you think that thick-lipped, black-bearded ruffian proposed?”
“I don’t know,” said Bracy eagerly.