“No, no—never mind,” said Pratt, catching his arm.
“Get down first,” said Trevor, as if he were on the quarter-deck.
“There’s nothing to be gained by it,” whispered Pratt.
“I’ll come directly,” was the reply; and facing round upon the fellow, who had risen, he looked him full in his closely-set eyes, face close to face, as he said, quietly—
“I think I shall know you again, my friend.”
Before the fellow had recovered from his surprise, Trevor stepped lightly down, took Pratt’s arm in an easy-going, familiar way, and the friends joined the string of people crossing the fields.
“Thank goodness!” said Pratt; “I do hate a row. You must be on the losing side. Lost anything?”
“No,” said Trevor, thoughtfully. “But if that fellow had been at sea with me, and behaved like that—”
“You’d have had him flogged?”
“No,” said Trevor, “I’d have pitched him overboard.”