Then he tried English. "Tink yourself, boy. Le bon Dieu. He send my wife no child, an' ze pay—not too moch for buy tings at Hodsonbay Compagnie, so? We haf not the life of luxury. Vot haf we but zee troop, an' my leetle 'orses, eh? So you call me Wormy."
"English for Fourmet, sir."
"So!"
"Men, sir, without nicknames don't count. They're not worth counting when there's trouble coming."
"They call you Blackguard."
I grinned.
"Then," he flashed round at me, "why you behave lak dam' baby, eh?"
And I flashed back, "Were you never young?"
The grizzled superintendent blushed with pleasure. "I took on," he said, "as constable—Regimental Number Six, the Constable Fourmet. But, my boy, I try. So you? Pooh! You burn my fort next! So you go to headquarters."
"Oh, not that, sir!" I pleaded. "Can't you punish me here?" For I thought of Rain.