He stepped forward swinging his light
bamboo cane.
"Who was that runagate?" he asked with terrible suavity. Leaning
over on his spade, Jeremy Pitt hung his head a little, and shifted
uncomfortably on his bare feet. Vainly he groped for an answer in
a mind that could do nothing but curse the idiocy of Mr. James
Nuttall.
The planter's bamboo cane fell on the lad's naked shoulders with
stinging force.
"Answer me, you dog! What's his name?"
Jeremy looked at the burly planter out of sullen, almost defiant
eyes.
"I don't know," he said, and in his voice there was a faint note at
least of the defiance aroused in him by a blow which he dared not,
for his life's sake, return. His body had remained unyielding under
it, but the spirit within writhed now in torment.
"You don't know? Well, here's to quicken your wits." Again the cane
descended. "Have you thought of his name yet?"
"I have not."
"Stubborn, eh?" For a moment the Colonel leered. Then his passion
mastered him. "'Swounds! You impudent dog! D'you trifle with me?
D'you think I'm to be mocked?"
Pitt shrugged, shifted sideways on his feet again, and settled into
dogged silence.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151