“Hey, what’s all this?” suddenly demanded Mr. Mamble’s voice from the doorway. “What’s he been doing, your Grace? I’ll teach him!”
“Nothing!” replied the Duke, struggling not to break into the mirth that was consuming him. “A—a slight misunderstanding with Lord Gaywood!”
Mr. Mamble executed one of his low bows in the Viscount’s direction, and begged him to state what devilry the pesky boy had been engaged on. He then cuffed Tom, and told him he should think shame to come into his Grace’s presence looking like a pauper brat.
“Well, I couldn’t help getting my clothes muddied, Pa!” said Tom sulkily. “It was a badger!”
“You say Papa, like you hear his Grace! How dare you go plaguing this gentleman with badgers? Now, you tell me this instant where you’ve put it, and no more tricks! I know you!”
The Viscount’s face of astonishment proved too much for the Duke. He sank into a chair, covering his eyes with one hand, and making a helpless gesture with the other.
“What the devil—?” exploded the Viscount, quite bewildered. “Who said anything about badgers! If that damned boy is your son—” He stopped, suddenly perceiving into what disclosures a complaint against his youthful tormentor would lead him. “Oh, never mind, never mind!” he said irritably.
“You tell his lordship you’re sorry for what you’ve done!” Mr. Mamble adjured his offspring.
“I ain’t sorry!” said Tom recalcitrantly. “I did it because I knew Mr. Rufford would be pleased, and he was! And I won’t let him bully Mr. Rufford, not if you tell me for ever! He shan’t touch him!”
Mr. Mamble looked suspiciously at the Viscount. “Oh, so that’s the way it is, is it?” he said. “Seems to me it’s his lordship as is wanted here! I don’t hold with duelling, and I’ll be bound he don’t either, for he’s a sensible man! I’ll wager he’ll know how to handle it!”