“Hobo, don’t interfere,” cried Roy Dresser. “Someone muzzle him.”
He wasn’t muzzled, but several fellows so engaged his attention for a minute that speech was impossible.
“Now, Bowles, once more. You were saying?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I’m not at liberty to speak, sir. His Lordship——”
There was a smothered groan from the struggling Hugh.
“Who?” asked Nick.
“That is, sir, Master Hugh——”
“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Bert, pushing forward. “You said something about ‘his Lordship,’ Bowles. Who did you mean?”
Bowles cast an anguished look across the table toward Hugh, but no help came to him for the reason that Hugh was very, very busy.