“Sahanderry! Sahanderry! Up with the flag!”
The kitchen door opened and Broom’s face appeared.
“Where’s the fire?” he enquired with a well-feigned look of terror.
“Fire be hanged! It’s the ‘packet,’” cried Roy exultantly, and in a lumbering fashion he cut a boyish caper on the loose snow.
Not to be outdone, Broom stepped from the doorway and began a grotesque performance which he called the Highland fling.
“Get out of it,” cried Roy, giving him a push.
Broom paused with a leg poised gracefully in the air. “You’re an unappreciative, cold-blooded Englishman,” he exclaimed in an injured tone. “Why, I’m thinking of you, not of myself. I’m dancing with delight, my boy, sheer delight. You’ll now be satiated with ‘billy doos,’” and he performed a few more intricate steps.
“Stop your nonsense, man!” commanded Roy, while he laughed heartily at the man’s antics. “But put on your coat and come out on the rocks.”
Broom instantly stopped his piroueting, to disappear into the house and return shortly, struggling into his coat as he came.
“Now, my bold Sir Launcelot, my lovesick swain, we will proceed to watch the approach of Cupid’s errant messenger.”