“My business is important,” urged David, quietly, though his face flushed a little at the man’s impudent manner.
“So’s my orders,” said velveteens.
“But I must see either Mrs. Mordaunt or Miss Violet.”
“You can’t see either. Absolute orders. Your name’s Harcourt isn’t it?”
Then David knew that Van Hupfeldt had over-reached him by the telegraph, and the shattering of his dream-castle caused such lightnings to gleam from within that the surly gamekeeper whistled to a retriever dog, and ostensibly revealed a double-barreled gun which lay in the corner of the porch.
David was likely to have his own way with clodhoppers, even in the hour of tribulation.
“Yes,” he said, “my name is Harcourt. And yours?”
“Mine is no matter.”
“Very well, ‘No Matter.’ You are obeying orders, I have no doubt; but you must be taught civility. I give you notice, ‘No Matter,’ that a little later I shall lick you good and plenty, and if you don’t take it like a man you will probably be fired into the bargain.”