Men, when half-angry, are in their horseplay rather disposed to be brutal, and it was so here. Sir Mark’s followers had made themselves exceedingly obnoxious to those of Gil, and they had seen him defend himself against a furious attack before, treating his enemies with contempt, he had brushed them aside and walked away. There was a fine opportunity then to avenge the insult to their leader, and to teach the gaily-dressed strangers to be a little less important and condescending to the people amongst whom they had come.
Ever since the world began there has been the desire to dress up the frail tenement of clay in which our souls do dwell, and to make it bright and gaudy. In early days it was perhaps only a daub of red earth, the blue or purple stain of a berry or leaf, or a brightly-tinted feather from some wild bird’s wing; and no sooner was the decoration donned than envy came upon the scene, mingled with dislike. Possession could not be had of the gay adornment, but there was the satisfaction of seeing the bright colours fade, the daub of gaily-hued earth washed away by the same heavy rain that bedraggled the feather, and made its plumes stick to the shaft. This same feeling exists in a.d. 1883 as it did in the year 3500+b.c., and no greater pleasure can be given to a rough mob than that of seeing some well-dressed individual come down into the mud.
The followers of Gilbert Carr then felt a real annoyance at seeing these showily-dressed men vapouring about, and hence it was with sincere pleasure that they heard Wat’s order, one which they were not slow in putting into effect.
Four of the sturdy sailor-looking men seized the strangers on the instant; while the workpeople freely helped; and the result was that, in spite of struggles, cries, and piteous appeals, first one and then the other was plunged into the rushing water of the mill-race, and borne towards the turning wheel.
As for Wat Kilby, he would have felt a grim satisfaction in seeing both swept through, over the fall into the deep hole beyond, where he would have helped to fish them out half-drowned; but there were plenty of workpeople present who would not allow matters to go to such an extremity, but were already about to lend aid as Sir Mark leaped out of the window, to be followed more deliberately by the founder through the door, Sir Thomas staying behind to have another glass of the very satisfactory wine.
Sir Mark then was in time to see his two men carefully fished out, to stand staggering and dripping on the edge of the Pool.
“How was this?” he cried. “Whose doing was it?” he repeated, stamping his foot angrily, and gazing round as his men sputtered, panted, and pressed the water out of their eyes.
For answer there was a tremendous roar of laughter, which exasperated him the more, as he looked eagerly around for Gil, or some one worthy of his steel.
The founder was more successful, for on coming up and asking a similar question, gazing angrily the while at Wat Kilby, that individual uttered a low laugh.
“This was thy doing!” the founder cried fiercely, as he scowled at the old sailor.