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"I won't speak a word, but, I say, it's Weatherc.o.c.k's doing. He has invented some decoction to charm creoles, and henceforth old Dis will be quite tame."
As they drew nearer, Gilmore whispered:
"They've been having it out."
"Yes, and Weatherc.o.c.k has had an awful licking; look at his phiz."
"No," said Gilmore. "Vane has licked; and it's just like him, he hasn't hit Dis in the face once. Don't notice it."
"Not I."
They were within speaking distance now; and Distin's sallow countenance showed two burning red spots in the cheeks.
"Hullo!" cried Vane. "Come to meet us?"
"Yes," said Gilmore; "we began to think you were lost."
"Oh, no," said Vane, carelessly. "Been some distance and the time soon goes. I think I'll turn off here, and get home across the meadows.
Good-evening, you two. Good-night, Dis, old chap."
"Good-night," said Distin, huskily, as he took the bruised and slightly bleeding hand held out to him. Then turning away, he walked swiftly on.
"Why, Vane, old boy," whispered Gilmore, "what's going on?"
Vane must have read of Douglas Jerrold's smart reply, for he said, merrily:
"I am; good-night," and he was gone.
"I'm blest!" cried Macey; giving his leg a slap.
"He has gone in back way so as not to be seen," cried Gilmore.
"That's it," cried Macey, excitedly. "Well, of all the old Weatherc.o.c.ks that ever did show which way the wind blew--"
He did not finish that sentence, but repeated his former words--
"I'm blest!"
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
IN HIDING.
Vane meant to slip in by the back after crossing the meadows, but as a matter of course he met Bruff half-way down the garden, later than he had been there for years.
"Why, Master Vane!" he cried, "you been at it again."
"Hus.h.!.+ Don't say anything," cried the lad. But Bruff's exclamation had brought Martha to the kitchen-door; and as she caught sight of Vane's face, she uttered a cry which brought out Eliza, who shrieked and ran to tell Aunt Hannah, who heard the cry, and came round from the front, where, with the doctor, she had been watching for the truant, the doctor being petulant and impatient about his evening meal.
Then the murder was out, and Vane was hurried into the little drawing-room, where Aunt Hannah strove gently to get him upon the couch.
"No, no, no," cried Vane. "Uncle, tell Bruff and those two that they are not to speak about it."
The doctor nodded and gave the order, but muttered, "Only make them talk."
"But what has happened, my dear? Where have you been?"
"Don't bother him," said the doctor, testily. "Here, boy, let's look at your injuries."
"They're nothing, uncle," cried Vane. "Give me some tea, aunt, and I'm as hungry as a hunter. What have you got?"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Aunt Hannah; "how can you, and with a face like that."
"Nothing the matter with him," said the doctor, "only been fighting like a young blackguard."
"Couldn't help it, uncle," said Vane. "You wouldn't have had me lie down and be thrashed without hitting back."
"Oh, my dear!" cried Aunt Hannah, "you shouldn't fight."
"Of course not," said the doctor, sternly. "It is a low, vulgar, contemptible, disgraceful act for one who is the son of a gentleman-- to--to--Did you win?"
"Yes, uncle," cried Vane; and he lay back in the easy chair into which he had been forced by Aunt Hannah, and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
Aunt Hannah seized him and held him.
"Oh, my love," she cried to the doctor, "pray give him something: sal-volatile or brandy: he's hysterical."
"Nonsense!" cried the doctor. "Here--Vane--idiot, you leave off laughing, sir?"
"I can't, uncle," cried Vane, piteously; "and it does hurt so. Oh my!
oh my! You should have seen the beggars run."
"Beggars? You've been fighting beggars, Vane!" cried Aunt Hannah. "Oh, my dear! my dear!"
"Will you hold your tongue, Hannah," cried the doctor, sternly. "Here, Vane, who ran? Some tramps?"
"No, uncle: those two gipsy lads."
"What! who attacked you before?"
"Yes, and they tried it again. Aunt, they got the worst of it this time."
"You--you thrashed them?" cried the doctor, excitedly.
"Yes, uncle."
"Alone?"