“Well enough, sir, thank ’ee,” the fellow said, busying himself with the traces of the fallen horse. “No thanks to these young rascals.”
“Ay! Ay! I’ll be walking on then to the hall,” said Mr. Bradbury, glancing at the ruined coach. “And I’ll leave you free, Tim Kerrick, to dust the jackets and whatsoever else of the attire of these lads as may occur to you.” He chuckled again, and pulled his flapping cloak about him.
“The road’s rough and broken with the rains, Mr. Bradbury,” said Tim. “As like as not you’ll be tumblin’ into the ditch, or missin’ your way. I’ll send one of my lads with you. Hey, you Dick, have you your lantern there?”
“Yes, I’ve it here, Mister Kerrick,” the keeper answered.
“Light it, lad, light it, and go along with Mr. Bradbury! Joe and me can finish our business with these varmint.”
The keeper, relinquishing me to Tim’s custody, lit his lantern, and stood forward to attend Mr. Bradbury, who, leaning on his cane, was scrutinising Tony and me.
“Show the light on this lad here,” said Mr. Bradbury, suddenly, pointing to me. As the light flashed on me, Mr. Bradbury peered at me through his spectacles; his face expressed nothing of his thought; shamefaced I stood before him. “What’s your name, boy?” Mr. Bradbury demanded, sharply.
“John Howe, sir,” I answered.
“Howe!—H’m—Kerrick!”
“Sir?” said Tim, touching his hat.