"Grandfather," his anger evaporating, his pride in the stiff-necked,
defiant young rogue increasing.

The boy changed not the rigid, slightly hunched attitude.

"Be pleased to wreck no more of my orchid-houses and to exercise your
great wit on your equals and juniors," he added.

Dam budged not an inch and relaxed not a muscle.

"You may go," said "Grandfather".... "Well--what are you waiting for?"

"I was waiting for Sergeant Havlan to _begin_," was the reply. "I
thought I was to have a second dozen."

With blazing eyes, bristling moustache, swollen veins and bared teeth,
"Grandfather" rose from his chair. Resting on one stick he struck and
struck and struck at the boy with the other, passion feeding on its
own passionate acts, and growing to madness--until, as the head
gardener and Sergeant rushed forward to intervene, Dam fell to the
ground, stunned by an unintentional blow on the head.

"Grandfather" stood trembling.... "_Quite_ a Stukeley," observed he.
"Oblige me by flinging his carcase down the stairs."

"'Angry Stookly's mad Stookly' is about right, mate, wot?" observed
the Sergeant to the gardener, quoting an ancient local saying, as they
carried Dam to his room after dispatching a groom for Dr. Jones of
Monksmead.