Is it any wonder if, as I looked first at them, then at my uncle, a feeling of utter despair took possession of me?
They were all, evidently, in a highly festive state of mind and ready for any diversion.
“Here he is,” cried Whipcord, who appeared to be leader of the party. “Here you are, Batch, my boy—we got your address at the police-station and came to look you up, and oh, I say, what a glorious old codger!”
This last note of admiration was directed to my uncle, who sat sternly back in his chair, gazing at the intruders with mingled wrath and astonishment.
“I say, introduce us, Batch,” said the Field-Marshal, “and to the other aristocrat, too, will you?”
“Why, that’s Bull’s-eye,” cried Crow. “You know, Twins, the fellow I told you about who’s—”
“Oh, that’s the Botany Bay hero, is it?” cried Masham. “I must shake hands with him. One doesn’t get the chance of saying how d’ye do to a real gaol-bird every day. How are you, Treadmill?”
Jack, whose face was very pale, and whose eyes flashed fiercely, remained motionless, and with an evident effort, as Masham held out his hand.
“What—thinks we aren’t good enough for him, does he?” said Masham.
“So used to the handcuffs,” said Abel, “doesn’t know how to use his hands, that’s it.”