Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/56

were you doing all those hours you were away? D’you think you’re here for fun?”

“Not much,” flashed through Tony’s mind, but he bit his lips on it. “I came back slowly to cool him down,” he said.

“You’re very careful, all of a sudden. It’s a likely story. I’ve a good mind to give you the thrashing you deserve———”

Tony’s mouth twisted. Since it was coming anyhow, he might as well allow himself the luxury of an answer. “Shall I put Childe Harold back in the stable first?” he enquired innocently.

Baldwin choked and gave him one savage look. When you have been accusing someone of impertinence for eight months or so it is almost disconcerting to get it at last. “Black-slack won’t do you much good,” he said. “Yes, you can put the horse away and come to me at the office afterwards. I think I’ll have the last word.”

Baldwin’s last word was about as much as a thirteen-year-old could stand, and Tony bit his lower lip clean through in the effort not to cry out. It was a successful effort, though, and that was some comfort to him later, not then. How he got through the rest of that day’s work he hardly knew, and the next day was worse, for by that time he was so stiff that any movement was torture. It was a long, hard day too, bitterly cold and rainy. When they rode into the stable-yard that evening the horses were mired to the shoulder and the men were spattered from head to foot. Baldwin dismounted and flicked at his long muddy boots in some annoyance. Then he sat down on a bench at the side of the yard.

“Where’s the Nobleman?” he said. “Here, you, pull off these boots, and fetch me another pair from the Quarters.”

His tone arrested the attention of one or two of the men. They turned to watch: Tony stood in front of Baldwin