Chapter XIV. Modesty of Mr. Galt
Roger Galt was laughing triumphantly. He roared in my ear, “So you’ll not go sailing overseas yet awhile, John Craike, to pleasure Uncle Charles. Blunt’ll never earn his guineas for your kidnapping.”
“Thanks to you! Will they come after us, do you think?”
“There’s not a man among ’em has a horse can match mine. Save Martin! And he’ll not dare. I vow by now Martin’s gallopin’ like the devil to Craike House with the bad news for Charles.”
“Yes, and you’re like to suffer for it at Craike’s hands.”
He answered lugubriously, “Ay, I’m like to suffer for it if I remain in this part of the country. But I’ll be riding elsewhere,—when I’ve set you down. I’m not so much afraid of Craike or aught that he may do, that I’ll dance to his fiddling always.”
“Why d’ye help me now?”
“For no more than knowin’ that you’re Dick Craike’s son.”
“Ay, friend and master.”