Frank had sprung to his feet, to stand white and trembling, and drew sword ready to interfere on behalf of his old companion, who, however, began to act his part admirably.
“Don’t you hit me,” he whined; “don’t you hit me.”
“You young whelp!” cried Bagot. “What are you doing here?”
“I dunno,” whined Drew. “Must go somewheres. Only came to lie down and have a snooze.”
“A lie, sir, a lie. I’ve had my eye upon you for hours. I saw you here last night.”
“That you didn’t, sir. It was too cold, and I went away ’fore eight o’clock.”
“Lucky for you that you did, or you’d have found yourself in the round house.”
“Don’t you hit me; don’t you hit me,” cried Drew, writhing.
“I’ll cut you to pieces,” snarled Bagot. “I watched him,” he continued to the man who held the lad in a firm grip in spite of his struggles to get away. “He was sneaking up to this young gentleman, begging and trying to pick his pocket.”
“That I wasn’t,” whined Drew. “I was orfle ’ungry, and he was pitching away cake things to the ducks. I only arksed for a bit because I was so ’ungry—didn’t I, sir?”