"For the love of God!" he whispered hoarsely. "Sir—sir——" And he clenched and wrung his hands together.
"Pick up the pistols, Worm, and handle them carefully, they've taken to cocking themselves of late, 'twould seem. And I, Joseph, I've taken to locking and bolting my door a-nights and being particular how I tread in the dark."
So saying, Mr. Dalroyd smiled and went downstairs humming softly, where the company were gathered to see him off.
In due time the horses were brought to the door and Mr. Dalroyd, pulling on his gauntlets, prepared to mount; but before doing so, drew his pistols from their holsters and found that their primings had been shaken out. Whereupon he beckoned Joseph smilingly—saw them re-primed and, smiling still, kicked Joseph viciously.
Then he mounted, watched Joseph do the same, waved an airy farewell to the company and rode gracefully away.
Reaching the open road, Mr. Dalroyd summoned his follower to ride beside him.
"On the whole, Joseph," said he, "I prefer to have a man of your—infinite possibilities beside me, at my elbow—within reach. Besides, I'm in the mood for conversation, let us talk, creature." Joseph's heavy brow grew rather more lowering and he kept his gaze bent obsequiously on the dust of the way as he drew level with his master, who had reined his horse to a gentle, ambling pace.
"You were educated above your station, Joseph—the law, I think?"
"Yes, sir."
"Owing to your mother's exertions—hence the extreme warmth of your—ah—filial regard."