“Yah! get out, you miserable young humbug. Think I was never a boy myself, and don’t know what it means. You’re red-hot to go and look at your duds. There, be off and put on your full-dress uniform, and then come down and let’s see.”
“Put them on, uncle, now?”
“Yes; put them on now,” cried the old man, imitating his nephew’s voice and manner. “Yes, put them on—now. Not ashamed of the King’s livery, are you?”
“No, sir, of course not.”
“Then go and put them on, and don’t come down with your cocked hat wrong way on.”
Syd hesitated, feeling a little abashed, but his uncle half jumped out of his seat.
“Be off, you disobedient young dog,” he roared. “If you don’t want to see them, I do. There, I’ll give you a quarter of an hour.”
Sydney took half an hour, and then hesitated about going down-stairs. He peeped out of his room twice, but there was always some one on the stairs, chambermaid, waiter, or guest staying in the place.
At last, though, all seemed perfectly quiet, and fixing his cocked hat tightly on his head, and holding his dirk with one hand to keep it from swinging about and striking the balusters, he ran along the passage and dashed down the stairs.
The quick movement caused his cocked hat to come down in front over his eyes, and before he had raised it again he had run right into the arms of the stout landlady. There was a shrill scream, and the lady was seated on the mat, while by the force of the rebound Sydney was sitting on the stairs, from which post he sprang up to offer his apologies.