“Let’s walk on,” he said. “I daresay the buzzy noise and singing in my head will soon pass off.”
He was right: it did, and they progressed slowly till they reached the lane, where the walking was better, but Vane was still glad to retain Distin’s help, and so it happened that, when they were about a mile from the rectory, Gilmore and Macey, who were in search of them, suddenly saw something which made them stare.
“I say,” cried Macey; “’tisn’t real, is it? Wait till I’ve rubbed my eyes.”
“Why, they’ve made it up,” cried Gilmore. “I say, Aleck, don’t say a word.”
“Why not?”
“I mean don’t chaff them or Dis may go off like powder. You know what he is.”
“I won’t speak a word, but, I say, it’s Weathercock’s doing. He has invented some decoction to charm creoles, and henceforth old Dis will be quite tame.”
As they drew nearer, Gilmore whispered:
“They’ve been having it out.”
“Yes, and Weathercock has had an awful licking; look at his phiz.”