Part 12 (2/2)
”Can't you speak without so many k-k-kays an' j-j-gees?” demanded Stalker, impatiently.
”N-n-no, s-sor, I c-can't, an' the m-more you t-try to make me the w-w-wus I g-gits.”
”Well, then, come to the point, an' don't say more than's needful.”
”Y-y-yis, sor.”
”What's this man's name!” asked the chief, settling the bandages uneasily on his head with one hand, and pointing to Brixton with the other.
”M-Muster T-T-Tom, sor.”
”That's his Christian name, I suppose?”
”W-w-well, I'm not sure about his bein' a c-c-c-Christian.”
”Do you spell it T-o-m or T-h-o-m?”
”Th-that depinds on t-t-taste, sor.”
”Bah! you're a fool!”
”Thank yer honour, and I'm also an I-I-Irish m-man as sure me name's Flinders.”
”There's one of your countrymen named Brixton,” said the chief, with a scowl, ”who's a scoundrel of the first water, and I have a crow to pluck with him some day when we meet. Meanwhile I feel half-disposed to give his countryman a sound thras.h.i.+ng as part payment of the debt in advance.”
”Ah! sure, sor, me counthryman'll let ye off the dibt, no doubt,”
returned Flinders.
”Hallo! you seem to have found your tongue all of a sudden!”
”F-faix, then, it's b-bekaise of yer not houndin' me on. I c-c-can't stand bein' hurried, ye s-see. B-besides, I was havin' me little j-j-joke, an' I scarcely sp-splutter at all whin I'm j-j-jokin'.”
”Where did you come from?” demanded the chief, sharply.
”From P-Pine Tree D-Diggin's.”
”Oh, indeed? When did you leave the camp?”
”On M-Monday mornin', sor.”
”Then of course you don't know anything about the fight that took place there on Monday night!”
”D-don't I, sor?”
”Why don't you answer whether you do or not?” said Stalker, beginning to lose temper.
”Sh-shure yer towld me th-that I d-d-don't know, an I'm too p-p-purlite to c-contradic' yer honour.”
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