“Well, is it, stupid?”
“Here, you skip it, you—”
The sea-captain interposed with a laugh curving his mouth. There was so much significance in the fellow’s gospel of cloth.
“Wake up, Tom Richards!”
The footman’s eyes protruded. He stared down at the seaman with the air of a superior being resenting and distrusting familiarity.
“Well, what d’you want?” And his glance added, “You shabby, cutthroat-looking devil!”
The man in red ascended the steps, while the servant’s face receded inch by inch, so that he resembled a discreet dog backing sulkily into his kennel. He was about to clap the door to, when the captain pushed Sparkin bodily into the breach.
“Richards, man, have you forgotten me?”
Sparkin’s head had taken the fellow well in the stomach, and the shock may have accounted for the man’s vacant and astonished face.
“Is my lord in? Brisk up, man, and don’t judge the whole world by its coat.”