“Oh, don’t do that!” cried his partner. “You will blow my windows out, and you know how I hate a draught!”
And indeed they were rattling in their frames. Then the huge Dick went forward and took my grandfather by the hand.
“You are sure you have got him?” he inquired; “remember, he is slippery as an eel.”
“My wife is looking after him—my three sons also,” said William Lyon, “and I think it likely that the stamp he got from Rob will keep him decently quiet for a day at least. You see,” he added apologetically, “he drave the knife into the thick of the poor lad’s leg!”
“Wringham?” cried the big man, “why, I did not think he had so muckle spunk!”
“Is he close freend of yours?” my grandfather inquired a little anxiously. For he did not wish to land himself in a blood-feud with the kin of a lawyer.
“Friend of mine!” cried the big man, “no, by no means a friend—but, as it may chance, some sort of kin. However that may be, if you have indeed got Pollixfen safe, you have done the best day’s work that ever you did for yourself and for King George, God bless him!”
“Say you so?” said my grandfather. “Indeed, I rejoice me to hear it. I have ever been a loyal subject. And as to the Maitland bairns—you see no harm in their making their home with my goodwife, where the lads can take care of them—in the unsettled state of the country!”
The senior partner at last got in a poke at the fire, for which he had been long waiting his chance.
“And you, Master Lyon, that are such a good kingsman,” he kekkled, “do you never hear the blythe Free Traders go clinking by, or find an anker of cognac nested in your yard among the winter-kail?”