“Sir,” spoke Master Bleekwood, not making a move in his captor’s grasp, “this is most undignified. Release your grasp upon my shoulder, I beg of you.”
“Not until you have asked my pardon upon your knees,” said the giant. “I feel, good sir, that I have been most grossly insulted, and if this is not——”
Suddenly Master Bleekwood’s whole aspect changed; with a tremendous wrench he freed himself from the grasp of the other, and with a deftness that could only have been gained by long experience, he spun about and planted a half dozen short, powerful blows upon the man’s face. With the blood streaming from mouth and nose, and roaring with pain, the young giant steadied himself for a rush. But before he could make a move a door behind him opened, and a strong girl with red hair and a freckled, good-looking face stepped into the room.
“Gintlemen, gintlemen!” she cried, with a brogue as thick as Paddy Burk’s own, “will you give over your noise? Sure, how in the world can a poor wounded officer on his way home to his ould father get a wink of sleep if you go on like this? Is it a bedlam instead of a decent inn that we’ve got into?” Then her quick, bright eye noting that the giant was responsible for most of the turmoil, she marched sturdily to his side. “Young gintleman,” she continued, “will you close your mouth and give over your great talk? Is it do harm by your noise to a soldier, who got his hurts in his country’s cause, you’d be doing?”
The young man turned his inflamed face upon her.
“Take yourself off, you kitchen wench,” he growled. “Hold your tongue, while I grind the bones of yon pretty gentleman.”
But the freckle-faced lass was not to be daunted by a savage tone of voice.
“Is it me you call a kitchen wench?” she demanded, her arms akimbo. “And I’m to hold my tongue as well, am I? Well, sir, I’ll not do that, but,” and with a swift movement she suited the action to the words, “I’ll take hold of your ear for you, you villain of the world.”
Taken aback, the giant glowered.
“Let go, you virago!” he shouted.