“Here, you had better mind,” said Burney.
“Why?” snapped out Slegge.
“Because you will have old Glyn hear you.”
“Pooh! What do I care for Glyn?”
“Ever so much,” said Burney. “I don’t suppose you want another licking.”
“Look here, Burney, none of your cheek, please, or else somebody else will get a licking. None of that. You were always a sneak, and trying to curry favour with the Indian nigger.”
“Curry, eh?” said Burney with a half-laugh. “Well, suppose I did. I like Indian curry.”
“Do you. But you won’t like my curry,” snorted out Slegge, “for I’ll give you such a curry-combing down as will make you sore for a week, my fine fellow.—Look here, boys, all of you; I am not ashamed to own I was licked that day, for I was weak and ill, and in one of the first rounds I nearly put my elbow out of joint. Something was put out of joint, but it snapped back.”
“He means his nose,” whispered little Burton. “It has been ever since Severn came. I never heard it snap back; did you?”
“I saw him blow it several times,” said the companion to whom he spoke, “and I saw his pocket-hanky after, and, oh my!”