“The place nearly burned down too,” said another.
“Here, go in somebody,” cried Allstone. “Perhaps he isn’t quite dead, and I suppose we must save him if we can. Do you hear? Go in some of you.”
“Who’s going in?” said another voice. “There’s smoke enough to choke you. Why don’t you go in yourself?”
“Because I tell you to go,” cried Allstone savagely. “I’m master here when the skipper’s away, and I’ll be obeyed. Go in, two of you, and fetch the boy out.”
“He don’t want no fetching out,” said one of the men, as the current of air that set from the window drove the smoke aside and revealed the dimly-seen figure of Hilary seated in the embrasure holding on to the iron bars. “He don’t want no help; there he sits.”
Allstone, who had been seized with a fit of coughing and choking from the effects of the blinding, pungent smoke, did not speak for a few moments, during which the smoke went on getting thinner and thinner, though, as the men had no lights, everything was still very obscure.
“Oh, you’re up there, are you?” cried Allstone at last. “Come down, sir; do you hear?” And he spoke as if he were addressing a disobedient dog; but Hilary remained perfectly silent, truth to say, almost speechless from indignation.
“What do you mean by pretending to be smothered and burned to death, hey?” cried the fellow again, roughly. “Why don’t you answer? Get down.”
“Out, bully!” cried Hilary angrily. “Why, you insolent dog, how dare you speak to a king’s officer like that? Why, you ugly, indecent-looking outrage upon humanity, you set fire to the place through your clumsiness, and then come and insult me for not being burned to death.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed one of the men. “Well crowed, young gamecock.”