Clupp, the fellow addressed, bashful at finding himself the object of attention, swayed backward and forward with his pikestaff for a pivot, laughing vacantly.
“No, sir,” he gaped, stupidly. Master Halfman’s lip wrinkled menacingly, and he reached his hand to his staff that lay upon the table.
“Indeed!” he said. “Then I must ask Master Crabtree Cudgel to lesson you.”
He advanced threateningly towards the terrified fellow, but long before he could reach him Dame Satchell had interposed her generous bulk between officer and private, not, however, as was soon shown, from any desire to intercede for the culprit.
“Leave him to me, sir,” she entreated, vehemently. “If you love me, leave him to me.”
And, indeed, her angry eyes shone warranty that the offender would fare badly at her hands. Halfman waved her aside with a gesture of impatience.
“Mistress Satchell,” he protested, “you are a valiant woman, but a rampant amazon.”
Dame Satchell’s cheeks glowed a deeper crimson, and her variable anger raged from Clupp to Halfman.
“Call me no names,” she squalled, “though you do call yourself captain, or I’ll call you the son of a—”
However Mistress Satchell intended to finish her objurgation it was not given to the company to learn, for Halfman tripped up her speech with a nimble interruption.