“Yes, let him go, Dan’l,” cried Peter.
But Dan’l shook his head, and as Bob kept on struggling and uttering threats, the old man turned upon him fiercely—
“Hold your tongue, will you?” he roared. “You so much as say another word, and I’ll make you fight it put.”
Bob’s jaw dropped, and he stared in astonishment at the fierce face before him, reading therein so much determination to carry the threat into effect that he subsided sulkily in his corner, and turned away his face, for every time he glanced at the other end of the carriage it was to see Peter grinning at him.
“Ah!” said Peter at last; “it’s a good job for us as Dan’l held you back. You made me shiver.”
Bob scowled.
“He’s thoroughbred game, he is, Dan’l.”
Dan’l chuckled.
“He’d be a terrible chap when his monkey was up. Oh, I am glad. He’d ha’ been sure to win.”
“Let him alone,” growled Dan’l, with a low chuckling noise that sounded something like the slow turning of a weak watchman’s rattle; and then muttering something about white-livered he subsided into his corner, and solaced himself with his pipe.