“What the devil’s the matter?” demanded the Captain, dismounting, and pulling open the gate to allow Stogumber and Chirk, who was leading Stornaway’s horse, to pass.
An outraged cry broke from the man in black. “Just as I thought! How dare you open that gate, fellow? How dare you, I say?”
“Why shouldn’t I open the gate?” asked John. “I’m it’s keeper!”
“Oh, no, you are not!” declared the spare man furiously. “You’re an impostor and a rascal! And as for that impudent counter-coxcomb there, it’s very plain to me that he’s a court-card, or worse!”
“Then let me tell you, you nasty, distempered old freak,” struck in Rose, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, “that it’s very plain to me that you’re a vulgar, uncivil make-bait, and if no one else will slap your Friday-face for you, I will!”
“Oh, Rose, pray hush!” begged Nell, between amusement and dismay. “For heaven’s sake, John—!”
“I’ll slap his face for you, Miss Durward, and glad to do it!” offered the farmer. “What call has he to come here, poking his Malmsey-nose into what ain’t none of his business? Threepence for every head of horned cattle! that’s what it says on the board, and threepence I paid the gentleman! What’s more, I’ll pay him threepence more if there’s any one of you can find a horn on the calf’s head!”
“Damn you, Jack, I knew I should catch cold if I let you bamboozle me into staying here!” said the harassed Mr. Babbacombe. “Where the devil have you been? No, never mind telling me! What ought this fellow to be charged for his calf? I’ll be hanged if I know! You can’t get away from it: not a sign of a horn on its head!”
“Quibbling! Mere quibbling!” cried the spare man. “You’re in a plot to cheat the tolls! Don’t tell me!”
“I do believe as he’s an Informer!” said the farmer, staring very hard at the spare man. “Let’s take and pitch him in Bob Huggate’s duck-pond, gov’nor!”