“Yes? What did you do?”
“Went and shoved the poker in the oven stove, sir; for I says to myself they tames lions and tigers in wild beast shows with red-hot irons, and if these here wild, black fellows tries on any of their games with me, I’ll try if I can’t tame them.”
“Capital!” said Carey, eagerly.
“I calls that an out-and-out good idee, Master Carey, and look here, sir, when it comes for a strike for liberty, I’ll undertake to tackle the black uns with a couple o’ hot pokers and a few kettles o’ boiling water, and if I don’t clear the deck I’m a Dutchman, which can’t be, for I was born in Bromley-by-Bow.”
“We’ll win yet, Bob,” whispered Carey, eagerly.
“Course we will, my lad, only take it coolly, and go about as if your comb were reg’larly cut and your spurs took off. I say.”
“Yes?”
“I shall expect you and the doctor to tackle Old King Cole.”
“Yes, yes, but we must have arms.”
“Course you must. You wait.”