Master Pawson gave the lad a peculiar look, and Roy felt as if he should like to kick out under the table so viciously that the sneering smile might give place to a contraction expressing pain.
But Roy did not speak, and the breakfast went on.
Chapter Six.
Ben Martlet feels Rusty.
“Come to me in half an hour, Roy,” said Master Pawson, as they rose from the table, the boy hurrying away to the armoury to find Ben busy as ever, and engaged now in seeing to the straps and fittings of the Italian suit of bronzed steel.
“Thought I’d do it, sir,” he said, “in case you ever asked for it; but I s’pose it’s all over with your learning to be a man now.”
“Indeed it is not,” said Roy, sharply. “I’m sure my father would not object to my learning fencing.”
“Sword-play, sir.”