The conversation ended here, the young magnate of Redlawn closing his eyes and gaping by turns for the next ten minutes, till Cyd, puffing like a grampus, appeared on the steps.
"Here's de glubs, Massa Archy," said he, as he handed them to the attentive coxswain.
"Where's the other pair, you black rascal?" roared Archy, springing up from his recumbent posture.
"I only fotched ober de one pair, massa," replied Cyd, with an exceedingly troubled expression.
"Cyd, you are a fool!"
"Yes, Massa Archy," answered the black boy, who seemed to be perfectly willing to grant the position.
"What do you suppose I want of one pair of gloves!" continued Archy, angrily, as he seized one of the oars, and aimed a blow at the head of the culprit, which, however, Cyd was expert enough to dodge. "Go and get the other pair; and if you are gone half as long as you were before, I'll have you flogged."
The eye of Dandy kindled for a moment,—for the same blood flowed in the veins of both,—as he listened to the brutal words of his young master.
"That boy is a fool!" said Archy, as he settled down into his reclining posture again. "He needs a whipping to sharpen his understanding."
Dandy wholly and entirely dissented from this view; but of course he was not so impolitic as to state his views. In ten minutes more, Cyd reappeared with another pair of boxing gloves; but these were not the right ones. They were too large either for Dandy or his master, and the poor boy was solemnly assured that he should be whipped when they returned from the excursion. The coxswain was then sent, and during his absence, Archy amused himself in pointing out the enormity of Cyd's conduct, first in bringing one pair, and then bringing the wrong pair of gloves.