"Sair?" promptly replied some one from beyond the short passage into which he looked.
"Dinner when you're ready, Gonzague."
"A' right, sair."
Taberman had seated himself by the fire, and here Castleport joined him. Each filled and lighted a pipe, and together they stared at the flames roaring up the wide chimney. The smaller sticks already began to fall apart, pitching outward or dropping between the dogs, and for some moments the young men watched them in silence. At length, as Taberman flung a fresh stick into the flames, Castleport spoke, half to himself.
"What a lesson it'll be to the old chap! My aunt! He'll grind his teeth to powder!"
"Tooth-powder, eh?" queried the other with a grin. "But we must be sure we have the laugh on the right side. It isn't merely the getting away with the Merle that's the joke; it's the hanging on to her and bringing her back safe."
"That's true enough," assented Castleport; "but with pluck and luck and an eye to the three L's, we ought to manage."
"You'd better go over the whole plan for me, Jack; you haven't given me half the details, and I'd like to know the latest version. It's certainly important to have everything perfectly understood beforehand."
"All right; I'll go over the whole business after dinner, old man. We will act the conspirators rehearsing their villainy; but let's wait for food. I hate discussions on an empty stomach."