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The two boys stared blankly at each other. "Well what do you know about that?" said Archer. "They didn't steal anything, anyway," said Tom, half under his breath. Archer stared at the coats, then peered cautiously about among the trees. Then he faced Tom again, who returned his stare in mute astonishment. "You don't s'pose we could have swum across in ourr sleep, do you?" said Archer.
Did not you want to be manager? Answer me, are not you, in one word, a Greybeard?" "You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey," said he, still laughing. "Laugh on!" cried the other, furiously. "Come, ARCHERS, follow me. WE shall laugh by-and-by, I promise you." At the door Archer was stopped by Mr. Chip. "Oh, Mr. Chip, I am ordered to discharge you." "Yes, sir; and here's a little bill "
"His hands are free! He's loose!" cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded "What he meant by this?" "Ask my party," said Fisher, terrified; "they set me on; ask my party." "Your party!" cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; "you reptile! YOUR party? Can such a thing as YOU have a party?"
Otherwise, the Honorable Archer Converse would never have gone in person to prevail upon Colonel Symonds Dodd. In temperament and ethics they were so far asunder that conference between them on a common topic was as hopeless an undertaking as would be argument between a tiger and a lion over the carcass of a sheep. Mr. Converse rose, unfolding himself with dignified angularity.
Dog-tired and hungry though he was, he set his teeth and determined that he would return to the cottage in the hope of learning the reason of his failure from the conversation which he expected would take place between Archer and Benson at a quarter to eleven that day. Repeating, therefore, his proceedings of the previous morning, he regained his point of vantage at the broken window.
"And you, Townsend," said Archer, "may look like a wit, if you will; but you will never be a hero." "No, no," replied Townsend; "wits were never heroes, because they are wits. You are out of your wits, and therefore may set up for a hero." "Laugh, and welcome. I'm not a tyrant. I don't want to restrain anybody's wit; but I cannot say I admire puns."
As he came out into the lobby Archer ran across his friend Ned Winsett, the only one among what Janey called his "clever people" with whom he cared to probe into things a little deeper than the average level of club and chop-house banter. He had caught sight, across the house, of Winsett's shabby round-shouldered back, and had once noticed his eyes turned toward the Beaufort box.
They wasted half a dozen damp matches before they could get flame enough to ignite the whisk stick which Tom held ready, but when they succeeded they "commandeered" the broken door as a "warr measurre," to quote Archer, and kindled a fire just inside the doorway where they believed that the smoke, mingling with the mist, would not be seen through the gray, murky atmosphere.
Nothing up to luncheon time had been seen or heard of human being moving without the limits of the post; nothing by Lilian Archer of her gallant of the night before. In times of such anxiety men gather and compare notes. The guard had been strengthened during the night, and its members sat long in the moonlight, chatting in low tone.
"S'pose we should meet some one?" Archer suggested, as he followed Tom's lead over the rocky ledges. "Not up here," said Tom. "You can see lights way off south and maybe we'll have to pass through some villages tomorrow night, but not tonight. We'll only do about twelve miles tonight if it keeps up like this." "S'pose somebody should see us when we'rre going through a village?
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