What with the Muffin-man, and Madame, and Marjolaine running to and fro and button-holing everybody who seemed to be inclined to drift towards the summer-house, the Walk’s attention was fully occupied. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn lifted his fat hand and brought it down with a sounding thwack on Jack’s shoulder. "What the devil—?" cried Jack, turning fiercely on his assailant. And then in amazement, "Hoskyn! By all that’s improbable, old Hoskyn!" If it were possible for a large man to shrivel, the great Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn seemed to shrivel as he recognised Jack. He could only stammer, "You, sir—you!—" "Hoskyn!" repeated Jack. And then, suspiciously, "What the devil are you doing here?" I hate to have to write the words, but Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had all the obsequious manner of a well-trained servant. "I beg pardon, sir," he muttered, and turned to go. But Jack caught him by the lapel of his coat. "No, no, Hoskyn; you don’t get off so easily. What are you doing here?" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned sulky. "I’m living here, sir." "The doose you are!—Well, you’re in the nick of time. Be a good fellow and fetch my hat out of the boat." "Certainly, sir," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. But as he started to do so, he caught sight of the Admiral. He turned to Jack and said respectfully but firmly, "I’m very sorry, Master Jack; but I can’t do it." "Why not?" "I’m looked up to here, sir. I should lose prestige." Jack eyed him half with suspicion and half with mockery. "I say, Hoskyn, what’s your little game?" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was getting angry. "What’s yours, sir?" he asked defiantly. "What the devil do you mean?" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pointed an accusing finger at the wine and the crumbs of cake. "I mean—this." "What of it? What do you insinuate?" cried Jack fiercely. But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn’s blood was up, and he was not to be intimidated. "It ain’t right, sir. It ain’t right for you to come here like a snake in the grass drinking claret and making love to our little Miss Marjory. I won’t help you! I’ll be damned if I do!" "Do you mean I’m doing something underhand?" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked at him sternly. "Well—ain’t you, sir?" "I’ll devilish soon show you!" shouted Jack, trying to pass him. But now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn fell into a sudden panic. "Don’t betray me, sir! Don’t, sir!" he entreated, trying to stop him. Jack thrust him roughly aside with an angry, "Out of my way!" and poor Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn sank on the seat in the summer-house, gasping, "Good Lord! He’ll tell the whole Walk!"