getting them from Milford, under five miles."

"The Highlanders would march it in less," replied Master Freake, "and
this is not a campaign, but a race."

"Where to?" It was Brocton who spoke.

"London," was the prompt reply. "That's the heart of England, my lord,
and if Prince Charles gets into the heart he need not be concerned over
Wade marking time in the heels or the Duke sprawling about in its belly."

"Your speech is light, Master Freake," said the rector with drunken sense
and gravity. "I trust it savoureth not of treasonable hopes."

I turned during this absurd remark to glance at Brocton to see what
effect this excellent summary of the situation had had on him. To my
surprise I caught him looking so meaningly at the pimple-faced Major, that
I felt sure something was going to happen, and I was right.

"God rot the man," said the Major thickly. "Does he say that I'm
sprawling about in somebody's belly?" He staggered to his feet, hand on
sword, and made to cross to the stranger, shouting, "Damnation to you,
I'll thrust something into your belly!"

Brocton, not in the least to my surprise, made no attempt to interfere.
Jack couldn't, for I was in the way. His father began to splutter
helplessly. I shot out my foot, and swept the Major heavily to the floor.
I plucked him up by his collar as if he were a rabbit, and choked him till
his face was nearly black. Then I put him back in his chair, where he sat
huddled up and gasping.