“I can,” said Syd, coolly, “and a wretchedly unpleasant voice it is. Go and bray somewhere else, donkey. Let’s see, it was the ass that tried to kick the sick—”
“Lion,” interrupted Terry, with a sneer. “Are you a sick lion?”
“It would be precious vain to say yes,” said Syd; “but I’ll own to being the sick lion if you’ll own to being the beast who hoisted his heels.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Terry, and he turned and stalked out of the place.
“Felt as if I should have liked to go at him again,” cried Syd, fiercely.
Barney winked to himself.
“He’ll give me one for that, sir. Now then, just you try a spoonful o’ this; ’tain’t too hot. Not a nyste sort o’ young gen’leman, is he?”
“No, Barney,” said Syd, taking the spoon.
“His pap was a bit sour p’raps when he was young, eh, Master Syd?”
“An overbearing bully!” cried Syd. “Only wait till I get strong again.”