“Yes, of the wine-cellars, Ben; but no—Oh, absurd!”
“Is it, my lad? I think not. Think it’s likely as your grandfather and his father would have had swords and pikes and armour, and big guns and little guns, and not had no powder to load ’em with?”
“Well, it doesn’t sound likely, Ben; but I’m sure we have none here.”
“Well, sir, begging your pardon for contradicting my master, I’m sure as we have.”
“Down in the cellars?”
“Down in one of ’em, sir.”
“But I never knew.”
“Perhaps not, sir; but I’ve been down there with your father, and I don’t suppose it’s a thing he’d talk about. Anyhow, there it is, shut up behind three doors, and I’ll be bound to say dry as a bone. It’s very old, but good enough, may be. All the same, though, Master Roy, the sooner we try what it’s like the better, and if you’ll take my advice you’ll have one of the big guns loaded and fired with a good round charge. That’ll try the gun, scale it out, and give ’em a hint for miles round that, though Sir Granby’s gone to the wars, his son’s at home, and his dame too, and that they don’t mean to stand any nonsense from a set o’ crop-eared rascals. That’ll do more good, Master Roy, than a deal o’ talking, and be less trouble.”
“We must do it at once, Ben,” said Roy, decidedly.
“The first thing, sir; and, by the way, as we’re going to begin to get our garrison together, it’ll be as well to make a little show. If I was you, I’d put on a pair of buff boots, wear a sword and a sash always, and I don’t say put on a lot of armour, but if you’ll let me, I’ll take the gorget off that suit of Italian armour, and you can wear that.”