"Did you really? I admire that. You told him he was getting it worse?"
Adrian opened his mouth again to shake another roll of laughter out.
"Come," he said, "Excalibur has done his work. Pitch him into the lake. And see—here comes the Blandish. You can't be at it again before a woman. Go and meet her, and tell her the noise was an ox being slaughtered. Or say Argus."
With a whirr that made all Benson's bruises moan and quiver, the great ash-branch shot aloft, and Richard swung off to intercept Lady Blandish.
Adrian got Benson on his feet. The heavy butler was disposed to summon all the commiseration he could feel for his bruised flesh. Every half-step he attempted was like a dislocation. His groans and grunts were frightful.
"How much did that hat cost, Benson?" said Adrian, as he put it on his head.
"A five-and-twenty shilling beaver, Mr. Hadrian!" Benson caressed its injuries.
"The cheapest policy of insurance I remember to have heard of!" said Adrian.
Benson staggered, moaning at intervals to his cruel comforter—
"He's a devil, Mr. Hadrian! He's a devil, sir, I do believe, sir. Ooogh! he's a devil!—I can't move, Mr. Hadrian. I must be fetched. And Dr. Clifford must be sent for, sir. I shall never be fit for work again. I haven't a sound bone in my body, Mr. Hadrian."