Bill Gudgeon removed his coat, always eying the dog, which stood watching with intelligent appreciation. Then Gumley handed him the brush.
"A little on the nose to begin with," said Jack.
Forthwith Bill's nose was black.
"Now the cheeks; no—a little more, if you please—yes, that's right. Now a dab across the forehead: don't spare the tar, there's plenty more in the pail—yes, that's capital! Now a few feathers, Gumley."
The trembling lad stuck the feathers, as they were handed to him, on the glistening tar. He groaned once, but Comely's echoing growl silenced him and made him hurry.
"Now I think he'll do," said Jack at last.
"Beautiful, sir! Whoever seed a better job this side of the line?"
"Listen, Bill Gudgeon! You'll tell your father that if Mr. Gumley is molested again, you and your mates will be hauled up before Squire Bastable and sent to cool your heels in the lock-up. You can go!"
Bill took his coat, rose from the chair, and sidled to the door, his eyes never leaving the dog. He was gone!
Jack sat down and laughed quietly.