Reginald made a vague dive at one of the boxes, but not the right one, for he produced a ‘z.’
“Ah, I thought so,” said Mr Durfy, with a sneer that made Reginald long to cram the type into his mouth. “Now let’s try a capital ‘J.’”
As it happened, Reginald knew where the capital “J” was, but he made no attempt to reach it, and answered,—
“If you want a capital ‘J,’ Mr Durfy, you can help yourself.”
“Magog” nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard this audacious reply, and scarcely ventured to look round to notice the effect of it on Mr Durfy. The effect was on the whole not bad. For a moment the overseer was dumbfounded and could not speak. But a glance at the resolute pale boy in front of him checked him in his impulse to use some other retort but the tongue. As soon as words came he snarled,—
“Ho! is it that you mean, my beauty? All right, we’ll see who’s master here; and if I am, I’m sorry for you.”
And he turned on his heel and went.
“You’ve done it now,” said “Magog,” in an agitated whisper—“done it clean.”
“Done what?” asked Reginald.
“Done it with Durfy. He will make it hot for you, and no mistake. Never mind, if the worst comes to the worst you can cut. But hold on as long as you can. He’ll make you go some time or another.”