“I’m not going to apologise now,” said Roylance, wincing a little, but speaking more determinedly than before.
“Arn’t you? Then I’m going to make you,” said Terry. “Bolton, go to the bottom of the ladder and give warning.”
“No, no; send Jenks,” said the boy addressed, appealingly.
“You go, and do as you’re told,” said Terry, fiercely; and Syd felt as if he must boil over soon, no matter how much he was hurt.
“Now then, Miss Roylance, if you please, I’m waiting,” said Terry, in an offensive way. “You’re such a talker that you can easily make a nice apology.”
Roylance went on cutting and sticking the piece of plaister.
“Do you hear me, sir?” cried Terry, “or am I to set Baby Jenks to thrash you?”
“Stand up, Belton,” said Roylance, quietly. “Now then, turn a little more to the light;” and Sydney rose.
“Stand aside, youngster. I want to give Miss Roylance a bit of sticking-plaister first.”
As he spoke he gave Syd, who was between them, a push, whose result astounded him.