“What are you going to do with us?” asked Case, as calmly as the nature of the occasion would admit of.
“Keep you for pets!” roared the fellow, impatiently.
“This object in front of us looks to me like the kind of a pet a tough like you would want,” Case answered, angrily.
The two men whispered together for a moment, paying no attention to the retort, and then one of them asked:
“How much petrol have you in your tanks?”
Case eyed the speaker with no little curiosity. His figure and dress, his lack of any orderly arrangement of his ragged garments, told him that he belonged to the lower grade of Englishmen, still his speech and manner indicated no little degree of refinement.
“What’s petrol?” he asked, not that he needed information on the subject, but to keep the other talking.
“You call it gasoline in this blawsted country,” said the other. “How much have you in the tanks of the Rambler?”
“What’s it to you?” asked the boy. “You’re not going to get the boat. If you go within reach of the boys’ guns they’ll blow the tops of your ugly heads off. Go on, if you want to! You’ll see!”
“We really need a boat!” laughed the fellow. “And so,” he added, “we’ll take our chances and leave you to the polite attentions of Ugly while we go and get the Rambler, with your permission, of course!”