"Sit down," cried Dick. "Steward!"
"Yes, sah; to be surely, sah. Dinner foh Massa Peter? One moment, sah."
Mr. Peter was laughing now, but he had seated himself on the withered grass as far as possible from Brawn.
"I must say that three hours in a tree-top gives one the devil's own appetite," he began. "I had gone to take a stroll in the forest, you know--"
"Yes," said Roland, "we do know."
Mr. Peter looked a little crestfallen, but said pointedly enough: "If you do know, there is no need for me to tell you."
"Oh, yes, go on!" cried Dick.
"Well then, I had not gone half a mile, and was just lighting up a cigarette, when Brawn came down on me, and I had barely time to spring into the tree before he reached the foot of it. There I waited as patiently as Job would have done--thank you, steward, what a splendid Irish stew!--till by and by--a precious long by and by--your boys came to look for Brawn, and in finding Brawn they found poor famishing me. Thank you, Bill, I'll be glad of a little wine."
"Looking for Brawn, they found you, eh!" said Roland. "I should have put it differ--"
But Dick punched Roland's leg, and Roland laughed and said no more.