Everybody sat down, and the Irish Nova Scotian modestly retiring behind the reading desk from which a perfectly clear view could be had of his proceedings, stripped off his red jacket and drew his sword from its scabbard. Striding to the middle of the room he looked in Stargarde’s direction, and began prancing on one foot and then on the other ejaculating, “Right guard, left guard, cut, thrust, parry,” etc., and swinging himself backward and forward with such startling rapidity that the lookers-on were obliged to tumble into corners and nearly fall over each other into the fire to avoid what seemed to be an avenging weapon.
It was a frolic for MacDaly, and the fun grew fast and furious, till Stargarde, noticing Armour sheltering Vivienne and Judy behind a heap of chairs, and looking as if he thought the performance a trifle undignified, gave the signal to stop.
The children present were shrieking with laughter, but their faces were sobered when the doorkeeper flung the startling announcement into the room that the candy had been stolen from the veranda.
“Buy more,” exclaimed Camperdown. “Off to the restaurant with you! Here’s money—and order cake and coffee for the grown-ups.”
MacDaly approached Stargarde with a mincing step and murmured something about his confident audacity that would seize the passing moment.
“Certainly,” she replied, “but coppers only. I’ll take the silver away from you.”
The delighted man accordingly made a circuit of the room, his heart gladdened by the clash of Canadian cents descending into the capacious receptacle of his tall hat.
Upon the arrival of the refreshments a time of feasting began in the kitchen. The soldiers, with the efficiency of trained waiters, took charge of the coffee and cake. The children revolved huge lumps of taffy in their mouths, and Armour with something like dismay watched the alarming disposition of sweets by the aged granny.
Stargarde was just about to send the rioting children bedward, when her attention was attracted by a commotion at the door.
Camperdown sprang up, but he was too late. What he had dreaded for weeks, with an agony of shame and dread, had come to pass. Of no avail now his lavish bribes and ceaseless supervision.