Bradbury Fisher was an easy-going man, but he belonged to a free race. For freedom his fathers had fought and, if he had heard the story correctly, bled. His eyes flashed.
“Oh!” he cried. “Oh, indeed!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is zat so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Bill—”
“My name is Hildebrand, sir.”
“Well, let me tell you, whatever your scarlet name is, that no butler is going to boss me in my own home. You can darned well go yourself.”
“Very good, sir.”
Vosper withdrew like an ambassador who has received his papers; and presently there was a noise without like hens going through a hedge, and Mrs. Fisher plunged in.