eh? Wreckin' my orchid-houses, assaultin' my servants, waking me up,
annoying ME! Seven days C.B.[15] and bread and water, on each count.
What d'ye mean by it, ye young hound? Eh? Answer me before I have ye
flogged to death to teach ye better manners! Guilty or Not Guilty? and
I'll take your word for it."

"The missile, describing a parabola, struck its subjective with
fearful impact, Sir," replied the bad boy imperturbably, misquoting
from his latest fiction (and calling it a "parry-bowler," to
"Grandfather's" considerable and very natural mystification).

"_What?_" roared that gentleman, sitting bolt upright in astonishment
and wrath.

"No. It's _ob_jective," corrected Dam. "Yes. With fearful impact.
Fearful also were the words of the Mon Sandy."

"Grandfather" flushed and smiled a little wryly.

"You'd favour _me_ with pleasantries too, would you? I'll reciprocate
to the best of my poor ability," he remarked silkily, and his mouth
set in the unpleasant Stukeley grimness, while a little muscular pulse
beat beneath his cheek-bone.

"A dozen of the very best, if you please, Sergeant," he added, turning
to Sergeant Havlan.

"Coat off, Sir," remarked that worthy, nothing loath, to the boy who
could touch him almost as he would with the foil.