"Cousin Rowdy, a word with you, if you please!" said Claud.
"Cousin Cad, two, if you like!" said Gerald.
"In France, where I live," Mr. Belleville resumed, "when we are insulted, we fight."
"No! do you really?" cried Gerald, his eyes sparkling as he began eagerly to turn back his cuffs. "Hooray! I say, shake hands, Claud. I didn't think you had it in you. There's a bully place up behind the woodshed. Come on!"
Claud Belleville, who really was no coward, started forward readily: but at this moment Destiny intervened, in the shape of six foot four of John Ferrers. Uncoiling his length from the hammock, he took two strides forward, and lifting Gerald in his arms as if he were an infant, carried him off bodily. Gerald, who was strong and agile as a young panther, fought and struggled, pouring out a torrent of angry protest; but in vain. When Jack put forth his full strength, there was no possibility of resistance. He bore the furious lad to his tent, and throwing him on the cot, deliberately sat down on his feet, in calm and cheerful silence. Gerald twisted and writhed, exhausted himself in struggles, threats, prayers; all in vain! Jack sat like a statue. Finally the boy relapsed into sullen silence, and lay panting, his hand clenched, his blue eyes dark with anger and chagrin.
By and by came the sound of wheels; a wagon stopped in front of the camp. There were sounds of leave-taking; "Good-by, Claud!" "Our love to your mother!" in various tones and modulations; then the sound of wheels once more, rattling up the hill and away in the distance. Then Jack Ferrers rose, and smiled down on his prostrate friend.
"Awfully sorry, old man!" he said.
Gerald was silent.
"Jerry! you're not going to cut up rough?"