“You let me alone, will yer? I never done nothing to you. Pair o’ great cowards, y’are. Don’t knock me about, or it’ll be the worse for yer. Hit one o’ your own size. I never said nothing to you.”
This was continued and repeated right into the room, Dan’l looking very severe and earnest, and holding on by the boy’s collar, half-dragging him, while Peter pushed behind, and then closed the door, and stood before it like a sentry.
“You have not been striking the boy, I hope!” said the doctor.
“Strike him, sir? no, not I,” said Dan’l; “but I should like to. Been a-biting and kicking like a neel to get away.”
Sir James had never seen an eel kick, but he accepted the simile, and turning to Bob, who was whimpering and howling—“knocking me about”—“never said nothing to him”—“if my father was here,” etc.
“Silence!” roared Sir James, in his severest tones; and Bob gave quite a start and stared.
“Now, sir,” said Sir James. “Here, both of you; stand together, and mind this: it will be better for both of you if you are frank and straightforward.”
“I want to go home,” whimpered Bob. “Y’ain’t no business to stop me here.”
“Silence!” roared Sir James; and Bob jumped.
Dexter did not move, but stood with his eyes fixed to the floor.