"I'll climb through the transom."
He made a dive under the surgeon's arm. The surgeon caught him by the seat of his small trousers.
"Where's Johnny?"
"That's the trouble—is it? Well, Johnny's a different quantity from you. Johnny's safe enough."
"Johnny's at Cary's house. I know it. I'm going, too," cried the younger boy, passionately.
"If you make a sound, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life," said the surgeon, in desperation, retracing his steps across the parade ground.
"I'd scratch your eyes out if you tried to," said the boy, a flood of crimson sweeping his face.
"Well—look out that your noise don't kill Cary," said the surgeon.
Trevelyan's boy caught the surgeon's hand.
"Indeed I'll try to be good," he said, earnestly, "if you'll only take me to Cary."