"And w'ot might your game be?" he inquired, with that supercilious air inseparable from plush and gold braid. "Oh, I know your kind, I do--I know yer!"
"Then, fellow," quoth I, "I know not thee."
"Don't get trying to come over me," said he indignantly. "The question is, w'ot are you 'anging round 'ere for?"
Now, possibly deceived by my pacific attitude, or inspired by the bright eyes of the trim maid-servant, he seized me, none too gently, by the collar, to the horrified dismay of the Imp.
"Nay, but I will give thee monies----"
"You are a-going to come up to the 'ouse with me, and none of your nonsense, either; d'ye 'ear?"
"Then must I needs smite thee for a barbarous dog--hence--base slave--begone!"
Wherewith I delivered what is technically known in "sporting" circles as a "right hook to the ear," followed by a "left swing to the chin," and my assailant immediately disappeared behind a bush, with a flash of pink silk calves and buckled shoes. Then, while the trim maid-servant filled the air with her lamentations, the Imp and I ran hot-foot for the wall, over which I bundled him neck and crop, and we set off pell-mell along the river-path.
"Oh, Uncle Dick," he panted, "how--how fine you are! You knocked yon footman--I mean varlet--from his saddle like--like anything. Oh, I do wish you would play like this every night!"
"Heaven forbid!" I exclaimed fervently.