“Morton; what does he want?” said Sir John. “Send him in.”
A good deal of shoe wiping was heard outside, and a fine-looking, elderly man, whose velveteens proclaimed his profession, entered, to bow to all three gentlemen in turn.
“Sorry to trouble you, Sir John, but I’ve got information that a party from out Woodstay way, sir, are coming netting and snaring to-night.”
“Confound their impudence!” cried Sir John, leaping from his chair. “What the deuce do you mean, standing staring there like a fool, man? Why don’t you get the helpers and the watchers together, and go and stop the scoundrels?”
“Men all waiting, Sir John,” said the keeper, quietly, “but I thought you and the captain would like to be there, and the major could give us a bit of advice as to plans, Sir John.”
“Quite right, Morton. Of course. Quite right. Take a glass of wine. Here’s a claret glass. You won’t have claret though, I suppose.”
“Thank ye, kindly, Sir John, but you give me a glass of port last time.”
“And you haven’t forgotten it, Morton? Quite right. It’s a fine port. Help yourself, man. We’ll change, and be with you directly. You’ll come, Rolph?”
“By George, yes,” cried the captain, whose face had flushed with excitement. “I’m ready there.”
“You’ll come, Jem?”