In his heart of hearts he trusted he was not wronging the camp-master. Rudeness young Blake could understand and forgive, but offensiveness never. He, Antony, could not forget that he was a gentleman and one of high-caste compared to this showman, and so he was prepared to keep him in his place. Skeleton was a king compared to Biffins, and Mary was a queen.
The man began to whistle an operatic air to himself—more of his ill-manners—and Antony felt he should like to pull him up off his seat and give him one good kick that should land him on the grass among the sea-pinks.
But at present the caravan really belonged to Biffins Lee, and one must think twice before kicking a man out of his own caravan.
'Well, Mr Blake,' said the showman presently, 'whether you buy the "Gipsy Queen" or not, you'll make yourself at home with us for a week or so, won't you?'
This was more kindly spoken, and Antony began to think he was behaving like a cad to Biffins.
'Certainly, certainly, Mr Lee. Excuse my horrid cantankerous bluntness. But I'll buy the "Gipsy Queen." There! That's settled. Cheque when you like.'
'Spoken like a man, young fellow,' and Biffins held out his hand to shake.
Antony could not well refuse this, but the grasp was not a warm one on either side.
'Morning, Mr Blake. Must be going.'
'Morning, Mr Lee. Pray don't mention it.' And, whistling again to himself, Biffins tripped down the stair and walked off.