“Give him a wash, and a new pair of breeches, if you can find a pair to fit.”
“Yes, Mr. John; and your baggage, sir?”
“Lies somewhere in Barbary, Richards, so you need not trouble your head about that.”
The whole episode so piqued the footman that he proceeded to lead the boy in the direction of the kitchen quarters by the ear. Whereat, Sparkin, who had already gauged the gentleman’s tonnage, fetched him a valiant kick upon the shin, and broke loose with a grin of whole-hearted scorn.
“You keep your hands to yourself, Tom Richards.”
The footman made a grab at the boy, but Sparkin was on the alert.
“Touch me, and I’ll dig my dirk into you.”
Mr. Richards reverted to that easier and safer weapon—the tongue.
“Didn’t Mr. John tell me to wash you, you little bundle of rags?”
Sparkin’s hand went to his belt.