“Clever boy!”, the Wardeness chimed in. “Hasn't he good spirits?”
“Take a stick to him!” shouted the Vice-Warden, as the old Beggar shook the water from his ragged cloak, and again gazed meekly upwards.
“Take a red-hot poker to him!” my Lady again chimed in.
Possibly there was no red-hot poker handy: but some sticks were forthcoming in a moment, and threatening faces surrounded the poor old wanderer, who waved them back with quiet dignity. “No need to break my old bones,” he said. “I am going. Not even a crust!”
“Poor, poor old man!” exclaimed a little voice at my side, half choked with sobs. Bruno was at the window, trying to throw out his slice of plum-cake, but Sylvie held him back.
“He shalt have my cake!” Bruno cried, passionately struggling out of Sylvie's arms.
“Yes, yes, darling!” Sylvie gently pleaded. “But don't throw it out! He's gone away, don't you see? Let's go after him.” And she led him out of the room, unnoticed by the rest of the party, who were wholly absorbed in watching the old Beggar.
The Conspirators returned to their seats, and continued their conversation in an undertone, so as not to be heard by Uggug, who was still standing at the window.
“By the way, there was something about Bruno succeeding to the Wrardenship,” said my Lady. “How does that stand in the new Agreement?”
The Chancellor chuckled. “Just the same, word for word,” he said, “with one exception, my Lady. Instead of 'Bruno,' I've taken the liberty to put in—” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “to put in 'Uggug,' you know!”