"Tut!" said Sir Percival, "let the boy have his joke. Is Mr. Moore at home?"
"No, sir," replied Buster, giving a hard look at Farrell, for Sir Percival's companion was none other. "'Ee 's never 'ome at such times, sir."
"What times?" demanded Farrell, gruffly.
"Times wen 'ee is hout," replied the boy, delighted at having entrapped the object of his dislike, for he was as much displeased with the young man as he was favorably impressed with his more amiable companion. Sir Percival laughed gently at his companion's discomfiture.
"I am an old friend of Mr. Moore," he said to Buster. "May I wait till he returns?"
"Yessir," replied Buster. "You can make yourself comfortibble in my habsence. I ham about to give his lordship a breather."
"His lordship?" echoed Sir Percival. "May I ask whom you so designate?"
"Certingly. Come 'ere, Pupsy."
The bulldog gambolled across the room to the boy, and standing up on his hind legs playfully attempted to bite off one of his trouser buttons.
"Sich manners, hand hin front o' comp'ny too," said Buster, chidingly. "Down, sir. Hallow me to hintroduce Lord Castlereagh, the champeen fighter of the neighborhood. Say 'ow-dy-do, Pupsy."