“Oh, you obstinate old mule!” cried Roy, gripping the man’s shoulders, as he stood behind him, sawing him to and fro, and driving his knee softly into the broad strong back. “Will you listen?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll listen; but that’s only your knee. Kick the old worn-out mule with your boot-toe, and—”
“I’ve a good mind to,” cried Roy. “Now listen: my mother begged of father to leave you here.”
“Oh, ay, of course.”
“Quiet!” roared Roy, “or I will really kick—hard; because she said she would feel safer, and that, if any trouble did arise with some of the men, Martlet would put it down at once, and everything would go right.”
The cuirass went down on the dark oaken boards with a loud clang, and the old soldier sprang to his feet panting heavily.
“Her ladyship said that?” he cried.
“Yes.”
“Say it again, sir; say it again!” he cried, in a husky voice.
Roy repeated the words.