“Oh! but, but, I pray you, have pity,” began the boy.
But his entreaty for pity came too late. Negotiations with the ogre, initiated by Jack, were already begun.
And now Phil was addressing the ogre himself.
“Look here, you old wretch,” he was saying, “respect our flag of truce,”—here he waved his handkerchief—“and we’ll parley with you.” And as the ogre graciously signified his consent, Phil went on:
“Here’s a handsome offer, a jolly little roasting pig, a real Paris nouverty, all ready for dressing, which we’ll give in exchange for the victim that you caught first.”
“And if you don’t say ‘Yes,’ ” put in Hubert, who was well versed in the customs of the game, “we’ll sell him cheap at the nearest cannibal market, so you’d better make up your mind quick.”
Very pompously the ogre advanced.
“Let the article for exchange be exposed,” he said, “and on the faith of an ogre no unfair advantage shall be taken.”
By this time poor Gaston was on the brink of tears. The sudden change in the complexion of affairs from all the previous screaming, shouting, and running, to the dignified air of solemnity which now invested the proceedings, filled him with alarm. Consequently, when, at a sign from Phil, Hubert advanced, and, seizing Gaston by one arm, helped to drag “the article” forward for closer inspection, all notion of it being only a game disappeared from Gaston’s mind, and he really thought that he was facing certain death.
He was rather a baby for his age, but then he had never had elder brothers, and this was his first experience of big English boys and of ogres.