“You are welcome to try!” retorted the Duke.
“I hardly dare to open my mouth,” drawled Gideon, “but there is much in what he says, Gaywood. I don’t reckon myself a mean shot, but I would think twice before I engaged in pistol-play with Sale. And you won’t hit him, you know. He is such a little fellow, and you are such a damnably bad shot!”
What the infuriated Viscount might have been goaded into replying to this was never known, for at that moment Tom bounced into the room, in an extremely muddied condition, and announced that he had been helping to dig out a badger. He then caught sight of Gaywood, and exclaimed: “Oh, Mr. Rufford, that’s the beau that ran off with Belinda! Did you know?”
“I thought as much!” said the Viscount, grasping Tom by the collar, and shaking him viciously. “Not content with the rest, you must needs set this whelp of yours to bubble me, Sale! By God, you might at least—”
“He did not!” interrupted Tom, struggling to free himself. “I thought of it myself, and I’m glad I hoaxed you, and I’ll do it again if ever I have the chance!”
“Gaywood, let that boy go!” the Duke said, grasping the Viscount’s wrist. “Your quarrel is with me, not with a schoolboy!”
“No, it ain’t!” declared Tom, twisting himself out of the Viscount’s slackened grip, and squaring up to him purposefully. “You’ll have to settle with me before you touch my Mr. Rufford!”
“That’s the spirit, bantam!” approved Gideon, much entertained. “No flourishing, now! Let’s see some of the homebrewed!”
“For God’s sake, Gideon, will you be quiet?” said the Duke, half laughing, half exasperated. “Tom, go and make yourself tidy! You cannot start a mill in my library!”
“I’m not afraid, if he is!” said Tom, observing with disgust the Viscount’s strategic retreat behind a chair.