Opposite him was another boy, particularly ragged at
knee and elbow, who stood with hands thrust into his pockets and
grinned.
"Base caitiff, hold!" cried the Imp, fitting an arrow to the
string: "stand an' deliver!" Give me my cap, thou varlet, thou!"
The boy's grin expanded.
"Give me my cap, base slave, or I'll shoot you - by my troth!" As
he spoke the Imp aimed his arrow, whereupon the boy ducked promptly.
"I ain't got yer cap," he grinned from the shelter of his arm. "It's
been an' gone an' throwed itself into the river!" The Imp let fly
his arrow, which was answered by a yell from the Base Varlet.
"Yah!" he cried derisively as the Imp drew his sword with a
melodramatic flourish. "Yah! put down that stick an' I'll fight yer."
The Imp indignantly repudiated his trusty weapon being called "a
stick" - "an' I don't think," he went on, "that Robin Hood ever
fought without his sword!" Let's see what the book says," and he
drew a very crumpled papercovered volume from his pocket, which
he consulted with knitted brows, while the Base Varlet watched him,
open-mouthed.
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