“Silence, man!”
“I beg pardon, sir. O’ course, that’s wrong now; but I tell you this, sir: he’s made me that wild again with myself, and now about you, sir, that, if I had to cut his hair or strop a razor to shave him, I should chuck the tools out o’ window. I daren’t go nigh him with such a weppun in my hand.”
“Rubbish, Jerry! You’re absurd!” cried Dick, shaking off the thoughts which troubled him as he determined to go to the colonel or Mr Lacey and explain all.
“No, sir, it ain’t absurd. Flesh and blood ’ll stand a deal, but there comes a time when it won’t stand no more. Sir Mark Frayne’s one o’ they—Here! hold up, sir; it’s your turn now.”
For Dick had started to his feet.
“What?” he cried, huskily. “Say that again.”
“What—about Sir Mark, sir?”
“Sir Mark?”
“Oh, yes, sir; you was dead and buried, his father died, and he became Sir Mark. Yes, sir, he’s a barrownet now, and got all your tin; and, my word, he does make it fly!”