"And the feathers be uncommon soft," added Gumley.
The victim lifted his eyes for one moment, but said never a word.
"Come, come, make up your mind. The dog—or the tar brush."
Still the lad hesitated. Fright seemed to have tied his tongue.
"Very well, the dog, then. If he goes for you in the night you'd better sing out."
"Watch him, Comely!"
The dog acknowledged the order with a growl of satisfaction, and Jack and Gumley moved toward the door.
"Stop, measter! Stop, Joe Gumley!" cried the unhappy youth, finding his voice at last. "Not the dog! For gracious goodness' sake, not the dog."
"Off with your coat then," said Jack, finding some difficulty in keeping his voice at the proper profundity.
"Ay, or your good feyther'll have the flutters worse'n ever," said Gumley. "Such a good coat, too good to spoil."